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An Illustrated Monthly 

Edited by 


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Original from 


Illustrations from Sketches and Photographs. 


Illustrations from Paintings and Sketches. 

Illustrations from Flashlight Photographs. 


Illustrations by Tom Browne, R.I. 


Illustrations by J. E. Sutcliffe. 


Illustrations from Diagrams. 



Percy Burton, 492 
Joseph Heighton. 686 

A. Radclyffe Dugmore. 560 

Arthur Morrison, 664 

C. H. Bovill. 161 

D. Littlewick. 825 

Leading Humorous Draughtsmen. 766 
Illustrations by Charles Keene, A. C Corbould, Phil May, Tom Browne, R.I., Harry Rountree, Heath Robinson, 
Frank Reynolds, Will Owen, Lewis Baumer, Wallis Mills, C Pears, C. Harrison, Noel Pocock, J. L. C Booth 


Illustrations by G. L. Stamps. 


Illustrations by W. E. Wigfull. 

Illustrations by A. K. Macdonald. 


Illustrations by T. C Dugdale. 


Illustrations from Photographs, 


Illustrations from Photographs and Diagrams. 

Franris Gribble. 597 
... Dr. F. IP. Edriage- Green. 719 

E. M. Dell. 177 

C. C. Andrews. 705 

One Who Knows. 732 

Il6, 252, 385, 513,641, 841 


Illustrations from Photographs. 

11 DUKES." Who They Are and How They Acquired Their Titles and Estates 
Illustrations from Photographs. 


Illustrations from Paintings and Photographs. 


Illustrations by A. D. McCormick, R.I. 

Illustrations by J. A. Shepherd. 


Illustrations by Will Owen. 


Illustrations from Photographs. 

GOLF STORY, THE FUNNIEST. A Symposium of Golfers 

Illustrations by H. M. Bate man, Starr Wood, Harry Furniss, and Will Owen. 

John J. Ward. 474 


Stewart East lake. 228 

Mo r ley Roberts. 399 

E. H. Aitken. 27 

W. W.Jacobs. 485 

Constance Clyde. 636 


HARDINGS' LUCK. A Story for Children 
Illustrations by H. R. Millar. 


Illustrations by Lawson Wood. 


Illustrations by Will Owen. 


Illustrations by C. Fleming Williams. 


Illustrations by W. E. Webster. 


Illustrations by H. Lanos. 


Illustrations by Arthur Twidle. 

E. NeMt. 108, 243, 378, 500, 628 

Ellis Parker Butler. . 102 

W. W.Jacobs. 3 

W. Pett Ridge. 371 

Richard Marsh. 420 

Cam ille Flam mat ion. 349 

" Or gin a I rdfff Aur Conan Doyle - 647 

^ I 


Illustrations from Diagrams. 

" IF THEY HAD THOUGHT OF IT." Modern Inventions in Ancient Times 
Illustrations from Drawings. 



.John Roberts. 749 

ILLUSION, A NEW. What is its Scientific Explanation ? 
Illustrations from Diagrams. 


Illustrations from Photographs. 


Illustrations by A. E. Jackson. 


Illustrations by Gordon Browne, R.I. 

KENNETH AND THE CARP. A Story for Children 

Illustrations by H. R. Millar. 


Illustrations by Nell Tenison. 


Illustrations from Photographs of Medals and Decorations. 


Illustrations from Photographs. 

LORD OF FALCONBRIDGE, THE. A Legend of the Ring 
Illustrations by Arthur Twidle. 


Illustrations by Bernard Wright. 


Illustrations from Caricatures. 

E. S. Valentine. 553 

James Eraser. 218 

... / H. Kcmer- Greenwood. 700 

Sidney Low. 542 

Madge S. Smith. 477 

E. Nesbit. 829 

... Winifred Graham. 320 

A Member of His Household. 604 

A. Conan Doyle. 139 

Beckles Willson. 19 


C. C. Andrews. 436 


Richard Marsh. 816 

Horace Annesley Vac hell. 757 


Illustrations by Chas. M. Sheldon. 

MEN AS STAGE "HEROINES." Lineal Descendants of Shakespeare's Portia and Ophelia 
Illustrations from Photographs, Paintings, and Old Prints. 


Illustrations by Alec Ball. 


Illustrations by Gilbert Holiday. 



Illustrations from Photographs. 


Illustrations from Photographs. 


Illustrations by T. C. Dugdale. 


Illustrations by A. E. Jackson. 

MULTUM IN PARVO. A Compendium of Short Articles. 

IX. — How a Bat Goes to Sleep 

X.— How We Tried the Daylight Saving Bill 

XL — "His Majesty" Under the Microscope 

XII. — How to Make a Model Glider 

Illustrations from Photographs and Sketches. 


Illustrations by W. H. Margetson, R.I. 


Illustrations from Photographs. 

IO6, 374, 482, 838 

... E. Douglas Fawcett. 508 

... E. Douglas Fawcett. 249 

Frank Savile. 527 

E. Phillips Oppenheim. 741 

fohn /. Ward 93 

Henry Franklin. 95 

fames Scott. 98 


... A. E. W. Mason. 781 


Illustrations by S. E. Scott. 


Illustrations by F. R. Gruger. 


Illustrations by S. £. Scott. 


Illustrations by Balliol Salmon. 


E. Bland 799 

.. Grace S. Richmond. 677 

C. C. Andrews. 282 

.. Beatrice Molyneux. 724 

... Cri g.! ni| to 57j 389, 517,645, 845 





PARADOX PARTY, THE. A Discussion of Some Queer Fallacies and Brain-Twisters. 


Illustrations by G. L. Stampa. 

Illustrations from Diagrams. 


Illustrations by Will Owen. 


Illustrations by W. Edward WigfulL 

PLAIN M EN. From a Woman's Point of View 

Illustrations by C. Fleming Williams. 


Illustrations from Photographs. 


Illustrations from Diagrams. 


Illustrations from Photographs. 


Louis N. Parker 

Illustrations from Photographs and Sketches. 

Harry Furniss 

Illustrations by Harry Furniss and from Photographs. 

Sir Thomas Lipton, Bart, K.C.V.O 

Illustrations from Photographs and Sketches, 

Enrico Caruso 

Illustrations from Photographs and Sketches. 

Sir Robert Anderson, K.C.B 

Illustrations by A. D. McCormick, R.I., and from Photographs. 

Lewis Waller 

Illustrations by W. R. S. Stott and from Photographs. 

ROYAL FAVOUR, THE. Penalties of Offending Royalty 
Illustrations by J. Finnemore, R.I. 


Illustrations from Paintings by A Bocklin, Jean Gericault, Jean Beraud, Sigismund Goetz, and By am Shaw, 


Illustrations by Will Owen. 

Short-sighted, how the world looks to the 

Illustrations by Alfred Pearse. 


Illustrations by A. E. Jackson. 


Illustrations by Arthur Twidle. 


Henry E. Dudeney. 670 

... W. Dalton. 791 

W. W. Jacobs. 233 

. . . Herman Scheffauer. 222 

..Han. Mrs. Fitzroy Stewart. 714 

John J. Ward. 319 

Henry E. Dudeney. 82, 240 

Adeline Duchess of Bedford. 292 






IV. W. Jacobs. 342 

Constance Clyde. 169 

E. Phillips Oppenheim. 610 

Arthur Conan Doyle. 271 


Illustrations by E. Zimmerman. J. M. Flagg, W. McDougall, W. McCay, W. H. Gallaway, A. Levering, 
J. H. Donahey, W. J. Steinigans, and H. Mayer, 


Illustrations by Lawson Wood, H. M. Bateman, Rene Bull. Harry Rountree, J. A. Shepherd, Geo. Morrow, 
John Hassall, Lance Thackeray, Will Owen, W. Heath Robinson, and Starr Wood. 



Illustrations by J. Durden. 


Illustrations by W. H. Margetson, R.I. 


Illustrations by H. M. Brock, R.I. 


Illustrations by R. Caton Woodville. 


Illustrations by S. H. Vedder. 


Illustrations from Photographs. Ornamental Borders by G. Thorp. 


Illustrations by Gordon Browne, R.I. 


Illustrations from Photographs. 

Austin Philips. 80 

... E. Phillips Oppenheim. 356 

Francis Cribble. 773 

Halt Cainc. 33, 194, 298, 451, 566 

Mrs. Bat Hie Reynolds. 692 


Evelyne E. Rynd. 73 

Horace Fletcher. 808 



(""rw^nL'' Original from 



{See pagt 7.} 

by Google 

Original from 


Vol. xxxviiL 

JULY, 1909. 

No. 223, 

Him op 


r^^-^"**-* ^1 


R. LETTS had left Ins ship hy 
mutual .arrangement, 11 nd the 
whole of the crew had mus- 
tered to see him off and to 
express their sense of relief at 
his departure. After some years 
spent in long voyages, he had fancied a trip 
on a coaster as a change, and, the schooner 
Curlew having no use for a ship's carpenter, 
had shipped as cook. He had done his best, 
and the unpleasant epithets that followed him 
along the quay at Dunchurch as he followed 
in the wake of his sea-chest were the result. 

Vol. MLX \ in. — t. 

Copyright, 1^09, by W\iW." Jacobs ( in ihc 

Master and mate nodded in grim appreciation 
of the crew's efforts, 

He put his chest up at a seamen's lodging- 
house, and, by no means perturbed at this 
sudden change in his fortunes, sat on a seat 
overlooking the sea, with a cigarette between 
his lips, forming plans for his future, His 
eyes closed, and he opened them with a 
start to find that a middle-aged woman of 
pleasant but careworn appearance had taken 
the other end of the bench, 

" Fine day," said Mr, Letts, lighting 
another cigaretfe na | from 



The woman assented and sat looking over 
the sea. 

"Ever done any cooking?" asked Mr. 
Letts, presently. 

"Plenty," was the surprised reply. 

" I just wanted to ask you how long you 
would boil a bit o' beef," said Mr. Letts. 
"Only from curiosity; I should never ship 
as cook again." 

He narrated his experience of the last few 
days, and, finding the listener sympathetic, 
talked at some length about himself and his 
voyages ; also of his plans for the future. 

" I lost my son at sea," said the woman, 
with a sigh. " You favour him rather." 

Mr. Letts's face, softened. "Sorry," he 
said. " Sorry you lost him, I mean." 

" At least, I suppose he would have been 
like you," said the other ; " but it's nine years 
ago now. He was just sixteen." 

Mr. Letts — after a calculation— nodded. 
" Just my age," he said. " I was twenty-five 
last March." 

" Sailed for Melbourne," said the woman. 
"My only boy." 

Mr. Letts cleared his throat, sympatheti- 

" His father died a week after he sailed," 
continued the other, " and three months after- 
wards my boy's ship went down. Two years 
ago, like a fool, I married again. I don't 
know why I'm talking to you like this. I 
suppose it is because you remind me of 

"You talk away as much as you like," 
said Mr. Letts, kindly. "I've got nothing 
to do." 

He lit another cigarette, and, sitting in an 
attitude of attention, listened to a recital of 
domestic trouble that made him congratulate 
himself upon remaining single. 

"Since I married Mr. Green I can't call 
my soul my own," said the victim of matri- 
mony as she rose to depart. "If my poor 
boy had lived things would have been 
different. His father left the house and 
furniture to him, and that's all my second 
married me for, I'm sure. That and the bit 
o' money that was left to me. He's selling 
some of my boy's furniture at this very 
moment. That's why I came out ; I couldn't 
bear it." 

" PVaps he'll turn up after all," said Mr. 
Letts. " Never say die." 

Mrs. Green shook her head. 

"I s'pose," said Mr. Letts, regarding her — 
" I s'pose you don't let lodgings for a night 
or two ? " 

Mrs. Green shook her head again. 

"It don't matter," said the young man. 
" Only I would sooner stay with you than at 
a lodging-house. I've taken a fancy to you. 
I say, it would be a lark if you did, and I 
went there and your husband thought I was 
your son, wouldn't it ? " 

Mrs. Green caught her breath, and sitting 
down again took his arm in her trembling 

" Suppose," she said, unsteadily — " suppose 
you came round and pretended to be my son 
— pretended to be my son, and stood up for 

Mr. Letts stared at her in amazement, and 
then began to laugh. 

" Nobody would know," continued the 
other, quickly. " We only came to this 
place just before he sailed, and his sister 
was only ten at the time. She wouldn't 

Mr. Letts said he couldn't think of it, and 
sat staring, with an air of great determination, 
at the sea. Arguments and entreaties left 
him unmoved, and he was just about to 
express his sorrow for her troubles and leave, 
when she gave a sudden start and put her 
arm through his. 

" Here comes your sister !" she exclaimed. 

Mr. Letts started in his turn. 

"She has seen me holding your arm," 
continued Mrs. Green, in a tense whisper. 
" It's the only way I can explain it. Mind, 
your name is Jack Foster and hers is Betty." 

Mr. Letts gazed at her in consternation, 
and then, raising his eyes, regarded with much 
approval the girl who was approaching. It 
seemed impossible that she could be Mrs. 
Green's daughter, and in the excitement of 
the moment he nearly said so. 

"Betty," said Mrs. Green, in a voice to 
which nervousness had imparted almost the 
correct note — " Betty, this is your brother 
Jack ! " 

Mr. Letts rose sheepishly, and then to his 

great amazement a pair of strong young arms 

were flung round his neck, and a pair of 

warm lips — after but slight trouble— found his. 

. Then and there Mr. Letts's mind was made up. 

"Oh, Jack !" said Miss Foster, and began 
to cry softly. 

" Oh, Jack ! " said Mrs. Green, and, moved 
by thoughts, perhaps, of what might have 
been, began to cry too. 

" There, there ! " said Mr. Letts. 

He drew Miss Foster to the seat, and, 
sitting between them, sat with an arm round 
each. There was nothing in sight but a sail 
or two in the far distance, and he allowed 


U 1 1 I U I I I '_' I I 



Miss Foster's head to lie upon his shoulder 
undisturbed. An only child, and an orphan, 
he felt for the first time the blessing of a 
sister's love, 

11 Why didn't you come home before?" 
murmured the girl 

Mr, Letts started and squinted reproach- 
fully at the top of her hat. Then he turned 

and kissed it Mr. Letts coloured, and 
squeezed her convulsively. 

Assisted by Mrs. Green he became re- 
miniscent, and, in a low voice, narrated such 
incidents of his career as had escaped the 
assaults of the brain-fever. That his head 
was not permanently injured was proved by 
the perfect manner in which he remembered 


and looked at Mrs. Green in search of the 
required information. 

"He was shipwrecked," said Mrs. Green* 

" I was shipwrecked," repeated Mr. Letts, 

"And had brain-fever after it through 
being in the water so long, and lost his 
memory/' continued Mrs. Green, 

" It's wonderful what water will do — salt 
water," said Mr. Letts, in confirmation, 

Miss Foster sighed, and, raising the hand 
which was round her waist, bent her head 

Digitized by t^OOg I C 

incidents of his childhood narrated by his 
newly-found mother and sister He even 
volunteered one or two himself which had 
happened when the latter was a year or two 

"And now," said Mrs, Green, in a some- 
what trembling! voice, "we must go and tell 
your stepfather." 

Mr, Letts responded, but without brisk- 
ness, and, w T ith such moral support as an arm 
of each could afford, walked slowly back. 
Arrived at a road of substantial cottages at 



the hack of the town, Mrs. Green gasped, to Simpson, though I begged and prayed him 

and, coming to a standstill, nodded at a van not to." 

that stood half- way up the road Mr. Letts encouraged himself with a deep 

"There it is/' she exclaimed. cough. " My furniture?" he demanded, 

11 What ? " demanded Mr. Letts. Mrs. Green took courage. M Yes," she said, 

** The furniture I told you about," said hopefully; " your father left it to you*" 

*'a pisagreeahi.e-i.ooking man was eyeing them in some 


Mrs. Green. "The furniture that your poor Mr. Letts, carrying his head very erect, took 

father thought such a lot of, because it used p. firmer grip of their arms and gazed steadily 

to belong to his grandfather. He's selling it at a disagreeable-looking man who was eyeing 

p nn ,[ Original from 



them in some astonishment from the door- 
way. With arms still linked they found the 
narrow gateway somewhat difficult, but they 
negotiated it by a turning movement, and, 
standing in the front garden, waited while 
Mrs. Green tried to find her voice. 

"Jack," she said at last, "this is your step- 

Mr. Letts, in some difficulty as to the 
etiquette on such occasions, released his 
right arm and extended his hand. 

44 Good evening, stepfather," he said, 

Mr. Green drew back a little and regarded 
him unfavourably. 

41 We — we thought you was drownded," 
he said at last. 

44 I was nearly," said Mr. Letts. 

"We all thought so," pursued Mr. Green, 
grudgingly. " Everybody thought so." 

He stood aside, as a short, hot-faced man, 
with a small bureau clasped in his arms 
and supported on his knees, emerged from 
the house and staggered towards the gate. 
Mr. Letts reflected. 

44 Halloa ! " he said, suddenly. " Why, are 
you moving, mother?" 

Mrs. Green sniffed sadly and shook her 

44 Well," said Mr. Letts, with an admirable 
stare, " what's that chap doing with my 
furniture ? " 

14 Eh ? " spluttered Mr. Green. " What ? " 

"I say, what's he doing with my furni- 
ture?" repeated Mr. Letts, sternly. 

Mr. Green waved his arm. " That's all 
right," he said, conclusively; "he's bought 
it. Your mother knows." 

44 But it ain't all right," said Mr. Letts. 
" Here ! bring that back, and those chairs too." 

The dealer, who had just placed the 
bureau on the tail-board of the van, came 
back wiping his brow with his sleeve. 

44 Wot's the little game?" he demanded. 

Mr. Letts left the answer to Mr. Green, 
and going to the van took up the bureau and 
walket back to the house with it. Mr. 
Green and the dealer parted a little at his 
approach, and after widening the parting with 
the bureau he placed it in the front room 
while he went back for the chairs. He came 
back with three of them, and was, not without 
reason, called a porcupine by the indignant 

He was relieved to find, after Mr. Simpson 
had taken his departure, that Mr. Green was 
in no mood for catechizing him, and had 
evidently accepted the story of his escape and 
return as a particularly disagreeable fact. So 

by LiOOgle 

disagreeable that the less he heard of it the 

44 1 hope you've not come home after all 
these years to make things unpleasant ? " he 
remarked presently, as they sat at tea. 

44 1 couldn't be unpleasant if I tried," said 
Mr. Letts. 

44 We've been very happy and comfortable 
here — me and your mother and sister," con- 
tinued Mr. Green. " Haven't we, Emily?" 

44 Yes," said his wife, with nervous 

44 And I hope you'll be the same," said 
Mr. Green. " It's my wish that you should 
make yourself quite comfortable here — till 
you go to sea again." 

44 Thankee," said Mr. Letts ; " but I don't 
think I shall go to sea any more. Ship's 
carpenter is my trade, and I've been told 
more than once that I should do better 
ashore. Besides, I don't want to lose mother 
and Betty again." 

He placed his arm round the girl's waist, 
and, drawing her head on to his shoulder, 
met with a blank stare the troubled gaze of 
Mrs. Green. 

44 I'm told there's wonderful openings for 
carpenters in Australia," said Mr. Green, 
trying to speak in level tones. " Wonderful ! 
A good carpenter can make a fortune there 
in ten years, so I'm told." 

Mr. Letts, with a slight wink at Mrs. Green 
and a reassuring squeeze with his left arm, 
turned an attentive ear. 

44 O' course, there's a difficulty," he said, 
slowly, as Mr. Green finished a vivid picture 
of the joys of carpentering in Australia. 

44 Difficulty?" said the other. 

44 Money to start with," explained Mr. 
Letts. " It's no good starting without 
money. I wonder how much this house 
and furniture would fetch ? Is it all mine, 
mother ? " 

44 M-m-most of it," stammered Mrs. Green, 
gazing in a fascinated fashion at the con- 
torted visage of her husband. 

44 All except a chair in the kitchen and 
three stair-rods," said Betty. 

44 Speak when you're spoke to, miss ! " 
snarled her stepfather. 4i When we married 
we mixed our furniture up together— mixed 
it up so that it would be impossible to tell 
which is which. Nobody could " 

44 For the matter o' that, you could have 
all the kitchen chairs and all the stair-rods." 
said Mr. Letts, generously. 44 However, I 
don't want to do anything in a hurry, and I 
Shouldn't dream of going to Australia without 
Betty. It rests with her." 
Original from 




"She's going to be married," said Mr. 
Green, hastily ; " and if she wasn't she wouldn't 
turn her poor, ailing mother out of house and 
home, that I'm certain of. She's not that 
sort. We've had a word or two at times — me 
and her — but I know a good daughter when 
I see one." 

" Married ? " echoed Mr. Letts, as his left 
arm relaxed its pressure. " Who to ? " 

" Young fellow o' the name of Henry 
Widden," replied Mr. Green, " a very steady 
young fellow ; a great friend of mine." 

"Oh!" said Mr. Letts, blankly. 

" I'd got an idea, which I've been keeping 
as a little surprise," continued Mr. Green, 
speaking very rapidly, "of them living here 
with us, and saving house-rent and furniture." 

Mr. Letts surveyed him with a dejected 

" It would be a fine start for them," 
continued the benevolent Mr. Green. 

Mr. Letts, by a strong effort, regained his 

11 1 must have a look at him first," he 
said, briskly. "He mightn't meet with my 

"Eh?" said Mr. Green, starting. "Why, 
if Betty " 

"I must think it over," interrupted Mr. 
Letts, with a wave of his hand. " Betty is 
only nineteen, and, as head of the family, I 
don't think she can marry without my consent. 
I'm not sure, but I don't think so. Anyway, 
if she does, I won't have her husband here 
sitting in my chairs, eating off of my tables, 
sleeping in my beds, wearing out my stair- 
rods, helping himself " 

" Stow it," said Miss Foster, calmly. 

Mr. Letts started, and lost the thread of 
his discourse. " I must have a look at him," 
he concluded, lamely ; " he may be all right, 
but then, again, he mightn't." 

He finished his tea almost in silence, and, 
the meal over, emphasized his position as 
head of the family by .taking the easy-chair, 
a piece of furniture sacred to Mr. Green, and 
subjecting that injured man to a catechism 
which strained his powers of endurance almost 
to breaking-point. 

" Wellj I sha'n't make any change at pre- 
sent," said Mr. Letts, when the task was 
finished. " There's plenty of room here for 
us all, and, so long as you and me agree, 
things can go on as they are. To-morrow 
morning I shall go out and look for a job." 

He found a temporary one almost at once, 
and, determined to make a favourable im- 
pression, worked hard all day. He came 
home tired and dirty, and was about to go 

tizedby uOOQlC 

straight tathe wash-house to make his toilet 
when Mr. Green called him in. 

" My friend, Mr. Widden," he said, with 
a satisfied air, as he pointed to a slight, fair 
young man with a well-trimmed moustache. 

Mr. Letts shook hands. 

" Fine day," said Mr. Widden. 

"Beautiful," said the other. "I'll come 
in and have a talk about it when I've had a 

" Me and Miss Foster are going out for a 
bit of a stroll," said Mr. Widden. 

" Quite right," agreed Mr. Letts. " Much 
more healthy than staying indoors all the 
evening. If you "just wait while I have 
a wash and a bit o' something to eat I'll come 
with you." 

" Co-come with us ! " §aid Mr. Widden, 
after an astonished pause. 

Mr. Letts nodded. "You see, I don't 
know you yet," he explained, "and as head 
of the family I want to see how you behave 
yourself. Properly speaking, my consent 
ought to have been asked before you walked 
out with her; still, as everybody thought I 
was drowned, I'll say no more about it." 

" Mr. Green knows all about me," said Mr. 
Widden, rebelliously. 

"It's nothing to do with him," declared 
Mr. Letts. "And, besides, he's not what I 
should call a judge of character. I dare say 
you are all right, but I'm going to see for 
myself. You go on in,the ordinary way with 
your love-making, without taking any notice 
of me. Try and forget I'm watching you. 
Be as natural as you can be, and if you do 
anything I don't like I'll soon tell you 
of it." 

The bewildered Mr. Widden turned, but, 
reading no hope of assistance in the in- 
furiated eyes of Mr. Green, appealed in 
despair to Betty. 

" I don't mind," she said. " Why should 

Mr. Widden could have supplied her with 
many reasons, but he refrained, and sat in 
sulky silence while Mr. Letts got ready. 
From his point of view the experiment was 
by no means a success, his efforts to be 
natural being met with amazed glances from 
Mr. Letts and disdainful requests from Miss 
Foster to go home if he couldn't behave 
himself. When he relapsed into moody 
silence Mr. Letts cleared his throat and 

"There's no need to be like a monkey on- 

a-stick, and at the same time there's no 

need to be sulky," he pointed out ; " there's 

a happy medium.". , 
IVJ Original from 




"Like you, I s'pose?" said the frantic 

" Like me," said the other, gravely. "Now, 
you watch ; fall in behind and watch." 

He drew Miss Foster's arm through his 
and, leaning towards her with tender defer- 
ence, began a long conversation. At the 
end of ten minutes Mr. Widden intimated 
that he thought he had learned enough to go 
on with. 

11 Ah ! that's only your conceit," said Mr. 
Letts over his shoulder. " I was afraid you 
was conceited." 

He turned to Miss Foster again, and Mr. 
Widden, with a despairing gesture, abandoned 
himself to gloom. He made no further inter 
ruptions, but at the conclusion of the walk 
hesitated so long on the doorstep that Mr. 
Letts had to take the initiative. 

"Good night," he said, shaking hands. 
" Come round to-morrow night and I'll give 
you another lesson. You're a slow learner, 
that's what you are ; a slow learner." 

He gave Mr. Widden a lesson on the follow- 
ing evening, but cautioned him sternly against 
imitating the display of brotherly fondness of 
which, in a secluded lane, he had been a 
wide-eyed observer. 

"When you've* known her as long as I 
have— nineteen years," said Mr. Letts, as the 
other protested, "things'll be a bit different. 
I might not be here, for one thing." 

By exercise of great self-control Mr. 
Widden checked the obvious retort and 
walked doggedly in the rear of Miss Foster. 
Then, hardly able to believe his ears, he 
heard her say something to Mr. Letts. 

"Eh?" said that gentleman, in amazed 

"You fall behind," said Miss Foster. 

" That— that's not the way to talk to the 
head of the family," said Mr. Letts, feebly. 

" It's the way I talk to him," rejoined the 

It was a position for which Mr. Letts was 
totally unprepared, and the satisfied smile of 
Mr. Widden as he took the vacant place by 
no means improved matters. In a state of 
considerable dismay Mr. Letts dropped 
farther and farther behind until, looking up, 
he saw Miss Foster, attended by her restive 
escort, quietly waiting for him. An odd look 
in her eyes as they met his gave him food for 
thought for the rest of the evening. 

At the end of what Mr. Letts was pleased 
to term a month's trial, Mr. Widden was 
still unable to satisfy him as to his fitness for 
the position of brother-in-law. In a spirit of 
gloom he made suggestions of a mutinous 

VoL xxxviii — t. 

nature to Mr. Green, but that gentleman, 
who had returned one day pale and furious, 
but tamed, from an interview that related to 
his treatment of his wife, held out no hopes 
of assistance. 

"I wash my hands of him," he said, 
bitterly. " You stick to it ; that's all you can 

"They lost me last night," said the un- 
fortunate. " I stayed behind just to take a 
stone out of my shoe, and the earth seemed 
to swallow them up. He's so strong. That's 
the worst of it" 

" Strong ? " said Mr. Green. 

Mr. Widden nodded. "Tuesday even- 
ing he showed her how he upset a man 
once and stood him on his head," he said, 
irritably. " I was what he showed her 

" Stick to it ! " counselled Mr. Green again. 
" A brother and sister are bound to get tired 
of each other before long ; it's nature." 

Mr. Widden sighed and obeyed. But 
brother and sister showed no signs of tiring 
of each other's company, while they displayed 
unmistakable signs of weariness with his. 
And three weeks later Mr. Letts, in a few 
well - chosen words, kindly but firmly dis- 
missed him. 

" I should never give my consent," he said, 
gravely, " so %it's only wasting your time. 
You run off and play." 

Mr. Widden ran off to Mr. Green, but 
before he could get a word out discovered 
that something unusual had happened. Mrs. 
Green, a picture of distress, sat at one end of 
the room with a handkerchief to her eyes ; 
Mr. Green, in a condition compounded of 
joy and rage, was striding violently up and 
down the room. 

" He's a fraud ! " he shouted. " A fraud ! 
I've had my suspicions for some time, and 
this evening 1 got it out of her." 

Mr. Widden stared in amazement. 

" I got it out of her," repeated Mr. Green, 
pointing at the trembling woman. " He's no 
more her son than what you are." 

" What?'' said the amazed listener. 

"She's been deceiving me," said Mr. 
Green, with a scowl, " but I don't think 
she'll do it again in a hurry. You stay here," 
he shouted, as his wife rose to leave the 
room. " I want you to be here when he 
comes in." 

Mrs. Green stayed, and the other two, 
heedless of her presence, discussed the situa- 
tion until the front door was heard to open, 
and Mr. Letts and Betty came into the room. 

With 0#fatr% MtfflS/ffi her mothen 



" What's the matter ? " she cried 

" She's lost another son," said Mr, Green t 
with a ferocious sneer — "a flash, bullying, 
ugly chap of the name o J Letts." 

M Halloa ! " said Mr, Letts, starting, 

M A chap she picked up out of the street^ 
and tried to pass off on me as her son t " con- 
tinued Mr. Green, raising his voice* "She 
ain't heard the end of it yet, I can tell you." 

Mr. Letts fidgeted. 4 * You leave her alone/' 
he said, mildly.* "It's true I'm not her son, 
but it don't matter, because I've been to see 
a lawyer about her, and he told me that this 
house and half the furniture belongs by 
law to Betty, It's got nothing to do with 

*' Indeed ! " said Mr, Green, ** Now you 
take yourself off before I put the police 
on to you. Take your face off these 

Mr. Letts, scratching his head, looked 
vaguely round the room< 

"Go on," vociferated Mr* Green* "Or 
will you have the police to put you out ? " 

Mr* Letts cleared his throat and moved 

towards the door. M You stick up for your 
rights, my girl," he said, turning to Betty, 
11 If he don't treat your mother well* give him 
back his kitchen chair and his three stair- 
rods and pack him off." 

M Henry," said Mr. Green, with dangerous 
calm, "go and fetch a policeman." 

"I'm going/ 1 said Mr. Letts, hastily. 
"Good-bye, Betty; good-bye, mother* I 
sha'n't be long, I'm only going as far as the 
post office. And that reminds me, I've 
been talking so much that I quite forgot to 
tell you that Betty and me were married 
yesterday morning." 

He nodded pleasantly at the stupefied Mr. 
Green, and, turning to Mr. Widden, gave him 
a friendly dig in the ribs with his finger. 

H What's mine is Betty's,' 1 he said* in a 
clear voice, "and what's Betty's is mine! 
D'ye understand, stepfather?" 

He stepped over to Mrs. Green, and putting 
a strong arm round her raised her to her feet. 
"And what's mine is mother's," he con- 
cluded, and, helping her across the room, 
placed her in the best arm-chair* 

%t * what's mine is mother's/ he concluded* HELPING her across the room, 1 * 

by Google 

Original from 


Fn>»t n Ptwto. hy (Sep. AVicii«i, Lt*L 





11 GVtfrtrf Pageant A faster Extraordinary to the British Nation**— Punch 

HOPE the fact that I am 
jotting down " Reminiscences " 
in no way suggests to the reader 
that I consider I have come 
to the end of my tether, " Var 
vrom," lis they say in Dorset. 
I have a pleasant theory that we begin a new 
life every morning, and that we do not so 
much grow old as grow different. If a cat 
has nine lives, why should not I ? Grouping 
rny daily beginnings into larger divisions, I 
have now had four long lives, and I look 
forward to the remaining five with as much 
pleasure as I look back upon the past. 

My first life was spent as a small wanderer 
on the face of the earth* I was born travel- 
ling, given up for as good as dead, and 
christened in a violent hurry by the first 
name that suggested itself. This has been 
of great service to the cheap humorist. I 
commenced my travels when I was six weeks 
old, picking up languages as soon as I could 

talk at all ; picking up Italian, French, and 
German without knowing I was picking up 
treasures ; drifting from one school to 
another, till I landed at last in the arms of 
the Royal Academy of Music and became a 
musician without knowing quite why. 

These early days of travel in Italy, France, 
and Germany are so far away that they seem 
mediaeval Railways were infrequent and, 
at< the best* barbarous. You still travelled 
by diligence, for dwice. Hotels were inns. 
The landlord was a real personage, not a 
mere manager. He took a personal interest 
in his guests; sat at the head of what was 
literally the host's table ; was full of good 
stones, and made you feel you had at least 
one true friend in the town. And there were 
adventures. In Italy you had to have a 
military escort when you drove from Rome 
to Naples, to protect you against banditti ; 
but it was a mere toss-up whether the escort 
were not banditti themselves. 




Rome was the Rome of Hans Christian 
Andersen's " Improvisatore." The Cardinals 
drove about in red coaches, and the Pope — 
Pope Mono of the angelic face — blessed 
you. Venice was Austrian, and there were 
no filthy penny steamers on the Grand Canal, 
and no horrible steam flour- mills on the 
Giudecca. Germany was split up into 
innumerable little States, each no bigger than 
a table-cloth, each with its ridiculous little 
Court and its own 
incomprehensive coin- 
age ; so that in a day's 
journey you changed 
your money six times 
and were cheated as 
often. Every German 
had a title. 

My first lessons on 
the piano were given 
me by a baroness who 
appeared to subsist 
on onions, and there 
is a tradition that at 
Dresden another 
baroness did our 
washing. You did not 
travel all over the 
world on a Cook 
ticket, By no manner 
of means, You were 
stopped every few 
miles to be identified 
and examined, and 
generally hauled over 
the coals. Oh, the 
passports ! How they 
were vise and signed 
and countersigned and 
and you had to sit in antechambers and 
wait the great man's leisure while this was 
being done ; and how you had to pay the 
great man's understrappers to get him to do 
it t Days, and sometimes weeks, were wasted 
over these formal ities, and in the meantime 
the police came every morning to see you 
were still there and still corresponded with 
your description. 

And the luggage examinations I Wt* 
grumble now if a civil Custom -house 
officer politely asks us if we have anything 
to declare and believes our bland denial, hut 
in those days every solitary thing in your 
boxes was turned out and overhauled and 
argued about. My mother and I were left 
disconsolate on the quay at Civita Veccbia 
while my father was haled to prison for 
having a pair of ancient pistols — unloaded 


and tin loadable — in his valise. One never 
really knew what might be going to happen 

Among the many schools at which I learnt 
the least jMsssible amount, the Gymnasium at 
Freiburg in Bretsgau — then, and now, one of 
the pleasantest towns in Germany — remains 
in my memory as the most delightful There, 
too, what may be called my sentimental 
education was begun. The forest, running 
right down to the 
gates of the town, the 
crystal streams run- 
ning through all the 
streets, the magnifi- 
cent cathedral, the 
ancient monastery in 
which the school was 
in those days lodged, 
and the funny old 
theatre in which I 
heard all the operas 
and all the great plays, 
left an impression on 
me far stronger, I fear, 
than any I got from 
actual school work. 

Some of my holi- 
days were spent in 
London, which I then 
visited for the first 
time* London was 
just as mediaeval as 
the rest of the world. 
Robson was playing. 
You ate oysters at a 
shilling a hundred in 
Hungerford Market, 
where Charing Cross 
Station now stands 
(when it isn't falling). Temple Bar was in 
situ. The Thames Tunnel was the wonder 
of the world. The great excitement was to 
stand in front of Northumberland House 
and wait for the lion on the summit to 
wag its tail 

Presently my parents became aware that I 
was working too hard in tier many — a con- 
viction I encouraged — and brought me to 
Devonshire for a year's rest. We lived at a 
little village with the improbable name of 
Ipptcpen. I bicycled lo it only the other 
day and found it restored and polished up 
out of all knowledge. Then I had a splendid 
time exploring Dartmoor on an aged pony 
whose name was Bob. There also — or, rather, 
at Newton Abbot— I very nearly got drowned, 
because I thought Devonshire ice must be 
the same, #fr&er«a.Bi l ic&i..wiliieb iip solid. 

/■"rym n I'kotvffraph. 



,UX RK1»UX," iN T lHS6 f AT SilEKKORNE, 

From Ipplepen I was taken to Norfolk, 
and became the last pupil of the old North 
Walsham Grammar School, under that magni- 
ficent old gentleman, the Rev. 
John Dry. We lived at Wor- 
stead, close by, and there I 
made my first public appear- 
ance. I played the organ in 
the parish church, and sang 
comic songs— " Not for Joe" 
and M Champagne Charlie"— 
at penny readings. Also, I 
caught pike in the Broads, 
which had not yet been dis- 
covered by the week-ender. 

During a holiday in London 
a prospectus of the Royal 
Academy of Music fell into 

my father's hands, "Why 
not become a great com- 
poser?" said he. I could 

see no objection. Had I not 

played the organ and sung 

"Not for Joe"? So, by im- 
pudence and a miracle, I got 

into the Academy, and there 

I stayed three years. Walter 

Lacy had an elocution class 

there, for which his extra- 

ordinary flow of language 

admirably fitted him. This 

inspired me with the idea 

of writing a play. All I 

remember of it is the title, 

" Family Jars/' Lacy said he 

would read it Said he had read it, and it 
was with the hall-porter of the Garrick Club, 
where I could fetch it. I walked up and 

i*m* 4 ft* (Ui^ft^* mi tj&m* M*)< cum^ c 

«£JH' 1 



iujo J^n . Miami 





a pageant is ttu:i:r l)\\ 




down outside that club for hours, trying to 
summon up courage to ask for it, I have 
not succeeded yet- 
One day Sterndale Bennett, into whose 
class for composition 1 had, somehow, wormed 
myself, said : "They want a temporary music- 
master at Sherborne for six weeks; why not 
go ? " So I went, and I stayed there nineteen 
very happy years. I think I ran honestly 
say— and am sure my pupils will corroborate 
me — I was the very worst music-master ever 
created, as I hated teaching ; but I organized 

fame and fortune." Four days later he pro* 
duced it, borrowed ten pounds and a velvet 
coat, and I have never heard of him since. 

But that fine actor, Louis Calvert, was a 
member of the company. He carried the 
playlet to Mr, Ben Greet, and the latter gave 
a maiink performance of it at the Vaudeville 
Theatre, with Mrs, Patrick Campbell — her 
first appearance in London — in the principal 
part. The Press was extraordinarily kind. 

Next Miss Alma Murray played a one-act 
play, "The Sequel," which had quite a little 

f>om a Phnto, b]f Lane Smiih t Yort. 

musical societies, composed cantatas, con- 
ducted, and generally engaged myself. 

Presently I moved into a house to which 
a large barn was attached. With my own 
hands I turned that into a theatre — such a 
beauiiful theatre that no play hitherto written 
was quite good enough to inaugurate it with. 
So I wrote a play — " A Buried Talent" — on 
purpose. This the local stationer printed for 
me. A travelling manager came along, saw 
a copy on the stationer's counter, called on 
me, and said, u \Vhy not let me produce it 
in the Assembly Rooms here ? It will mean 

vogue ; and presently a three-act play, "The 
Bohemians," was accepted and in rehearsal 
Simultaneously a change of head masters took 
place at Sherborne, and so this was obviously 
the time to come to London. It was 
obviously the gate to that fame and fortune 
which my friend of the velvet coat had 
foretold. So I packed up my belongings 
— including the cat — and arrived in town 
on the day of the production of "The 
Bohemians," and without having been able 

to see one rehearsal.. I had no misgivings, 
you. Play-writing had she 


^ad shown itself to 



be child's play. ^The Bohemians," however, 
was uncompromisingly " slated "—and there 
we were. But Mr. Murray Carson was in the 
cast, and he and I established a collaboration. 
In rapid succession came "David/ 1 
"Gudgeons," "The Blue Boar," and " Rose- 
mary." The story of "Rosemary," so far as 
its authors are concerned, is little short of a 
tragedy, and will be told in another place. I 
blame nobody, but let me here give inexpe- 
rienced authors a word of solemn advice. 
Never, under any circumstances — although 
you may be reduced to your last cxvLSt—xever 
sell anything outright. 

their foundation by St Ealdhelm, and sug- 
gesting a folk-play as a novel means to this 
effect. I leapt at the idea; with the result 
that June, 1905, saw the Sherborne Pageant, 
the first of the series of great pageants with 
which I have been connected, the first 
spectacle of precisely that kind which has 
ever been seen anywhere. How the idea of 
pageants caught on is a matter of recent 
history. Before Sherborne was over I was 
invited to Warwick ; before Warwick was 
begun I was booked for Bury St, Edmunds 
and Dover; and in this present year I am 
doing Colchester and York. 




* ; a \ j 

R^>qHU - 

r -»' *** ' Jfcl 

&*W* A 


m 1 


7 it 

• ■ 4 1 


Froin a Ftotif. bp G. S. Ltouflndu Httrv 5*. KdmundM. 

" Rosemary " was succeeded, in collabora- 
tion with Murray Carson, by "Change Alley," 
"The Termagant/' and "The Jest 1 '; but I 
was writing plays alone at the same time, of 
which "The Mayflower," and especially "The 
Happy Life," "The Swashbuckler," and 
"The Cardinal," are to me the pleasantest 
memories. I may say that " The Cardinal " 
has been played in Italy uninterruptedly 
during the last five years. 

One day I received a letter from an old 
Shirburnian, the Rev, Arthur Field, telling 
me that the town and school proposed to 
celebrate the twelve hundredth anniversary of 

Digitized by Lt» 

In the Bury Sl Edmunds pageant an 
interesting episode was that of Abbot Samson 
and the history of his monastery. The story 
forms the most picturesque part of Carlyle's 
" Past and Present," The monks, who, deeply 
in debt to the Jews, were released by Sam son J s 
economies, and their creditors were expelled, 

I confess I am very proud of the invention 
of modern pageantry. I am very proud of, 
and grateful for, the friendship and sympathy 
it has brought me, I am proud of the 
enormous amount of local talent, whether 
in acting or in any of the arts, which these 
pageants have called forth. 




I am proud, too, of having been the first 
to reawaken among the English people that 
ancient love of mirth and jollity for which 
they used to be famous. I am proud of 
having brought all classes together in these 
pageants, to work and to play in perfect har- 
mony and goodwill without distinction of creed, 
politics, or position. I am proud of having 
found a vehicle for the display of the right 
kind of patriotism, whether local or national. 
I can hardly trust myself to speak of the 
personal kindness displayed towards me, 

understanding. I think pageants should be 
reserved for great historical anniversaries, and 
I am convinced they should invariably be 
strictly confined to local talent, whether in 
the performance itself or in the preparation 
of costumes and armories. Above all, they 
should never be allowed to lapse from dignity. 
When they have sunk to the level of the 
ordinary denominational bazaar, and are 
organized for the benefit of 41 causes" or in 
any way with the primary object of making 
money, their day will be over. 

^Vyjii a Fhvta by U. S- Uttmin*. Bury Si. Edmund*. 

Let me only say that, although more than 
twelve thousand performers have already 
passed through my hands, not one cross 
word has ever been exchanged between 
us. Very much to the contrary, as the 
illustration on the next page of one of the 
many souvenirs I have received from 
them bears eloquent testimony ; and not 
one of all that vast crowd has ever thrown 
up his or her part This, I think, is a 

What the future of pageantry is to be I 
cannot say, I think it has been overdone, 
and sometimes been done without thought or 

A pageant, according to the true concep- 
tion, is merely an incident in a great festival 
of thanksgiving to Almighty God for the 
blessings He has conferred on a town during 
the past, and for its present prosperity. 
Accordingly, there should be joyous services 
every day, if possible, but certainly on the 
opening and closing Sundays, not in one 
place of worship only, but in all ; or, if in 
one, then attended by the entire population. 
For a pageant should be a festival of brother- 
hood, of homecoming, of reunion, and of 
hope. Also it should be a great educational 

force, t^^fa rmtaiiN 1 * example 



the continuity and 
ruthless logic of 
history, teaching 
them patriotism and 
loyalty, teaching them 
to "fear God and 
honour the King," 

For myself, the 
present will see the 
close of my activity 
in this direction, I 
write those words 
with deep regret, but 
a pageant absorbs 
one's time, and there 
are several plays I 
want to write — al- 
though the public 
may not want to see 
them. As I said 
at the beginning, 
this is by no means 
to he read as an auto- 
obituary notice. I 
hope to break out in 
several fresh places — 
perhaps to-morrow. 

As I do not intend 
big pageants in England 
current year at Col- 
chester and York, 
it may, perhaps, be 
of interest if I jot 
down a few rough 
notes concerning 
the purely mechani- 
cal side of them. 
By-and-by I pro- 
pose to write a 
little handbook on 
the subject. 

In dealing with 
large masses of 
people, one must t 
of course, avoid 
anything which 
might lead to con- 
fusion, and simpli- 
city and breadth 
must be the chief 
aims of the 
pageant -maker 

The compo- 
nent parts of a 
pageant may be 
roughly set down 
as follows (Fig 
I. next page). 

Vol. aHwcviii.— 3p 



Narrative chorus. 
Dramatic chorus. 
5- 6 > 7. 8, 9. 

ftvw a Fhtjfa, bv fjftt. .YeiTHei. Ltd. 

to run any more 
after those of the 



Episodes — that is, 
complete groups of 
performers, each 
group playing an 
independent section 
of the pageant. 

10. Morris dancers. 

1 1. Stately dancers. 

12. Children dancers. 
The pageant 

ground — the arena — 
is always mapped 
out according to the 
following plan {Fig. 

I) is the grand 
stand j roofed, and 
with every seat num- 
bered and reserved. 

A is the orchestra, 
covered with an open 
roof (louvred), under 
which the players and 
the conductor are 
entirely out of sight of the audience, 
B is the Royal enclosure. 

CC are the seats 
for the narrative 
chorus, When 
they sing they step 
forward and face 
the audience. 
E is the arena, 
F is either the 
natural back- 
ground, or an 
imaginary bound- 
ary to the arena. 
The dotted line in 
front of the grand 
stand is the limit 
within which 
speakers must not 
advance. The 
figures at the side 
are the "wings/* 
formed either by 
natural cover or by 
t e m po ra ry screens 
of foliage, I tole- 
rate no artificial 
scenery. Of course, 
there may be en- 
trances much far- 
ther away. At 

4 ©Hginal from 







Warwick one such entrance was a quarter of 
a mile from the grand stand, and the effect 
was superb. At each entrance there is an 
electric bell worked from the "master's" box. 
The performers assemble at their respective 
bells and enter 

at a precon- 
certed signal 
on the bell. It is 
the "master's" 
business to time 
the entrances, 
and that is no 
joke. His box 
is on the roof 
of the grand 
stand — again 
entirely out of 
sight of the 
audience. 1 his 
is shown in 
Fig. III. 

A is the grand 

Bis the 

C i s the 
"master's" box. 

D is the desk 
for the prompt- 
book and the control of the electric 

The " master " is also armed with a very 
large megaphone, through which he can 
address remarks— complimentary or otherwise 
—to the performers, unheard by 
the audience. Also he uses flags 
for controlling cheers, laughter, 
groans, etc., etc. 

The formation of the final 
tableau and march - past has 
always aroused interest. 

Referring back to Fig. I., and 
keeping to the figures already 
allotted to the separate groups, 

Digitized by dOOg 



the tableau is formed thus, each 
numberentering separately after its 
predecessor has fallen into place. 
No. 13 we will suppose to be 
an allegorical figure representing 
the town. This tableau is formed 
and controlled by corresponding 
figures on a roller blind in the 
"master's" box. There are a 
great many more figures than are 
shown here, which cause seem- 
ingly elaborate movements and 
evolutions on the part of the per- 
formers. For instance, all the 
principal characters step forward 
and form an inner ring. They then resolve 
themselves into groups of kings and queens ; 
bishops, priests, monks, etc. ; barons and 
warriors; lord mayors, bailiffs, etc. ; and take 
up entirely new positions. Then the National 

Anthem is sung 
by the entire 
crowd, and 
lastly begins the 
march - past. 
This is an ela- 
borate and very 
intricate "follow 
my leader," and 
I am sorry I 
have not suffici- 
ent skill to illus- 
trate it even in 
a rudimentary 
manner. It starts 
at 2, follows the 
inner line of 
the semicircle 
(which is mov- 
ing in the oppo- 
site direction), 
comes down to 
9 (the outstand- 
ing groups fall- 
ing into their 
appointed places), then passes the grand stand, 
out at 2, according to the nature of the arena, 
ultimately disappearing, so that the whole 
pageant fades away like a beautiful dream. 





From a Portrait taken, in JtonfretZ in rt*7« 

T was an evening in early 
September, From the heat, 
intense, almost unbearable, 
during the day a welcome 
change had set in, and the 
mercury in my thermometer 
marked sixty-five degrees. Another week of 
doke far mente existence on Helen's Island 
remained; another week of fishing, novel 
reading, and a pleasing desultory dabbling in 
chemistry ; then would come the beginning 
of the University term. I would resume my 
duties as professor in anatomy and surgery, 
and embark on an arduous course of clinical 
lectures and demonstrations. 

Lighting a fresh cigar I swung myself 
gently to and fro in the hammock. I was 
quite alone in the cottage, my wife being on 
a visit to Tad ou s sac. Jeannette, our house- 
keeper and factotum, had been released from 
duty for the evening. Before me on the 
veranda swept the broad St, Lawrence, lit 
by a high-riding moon, and on its far edge the 
coloured lights of LongueuiL My ear caught 
the strains of male and female voices, 
accompanied by a banjo. At my back; as 
1 swung in the hammock, streamed the deep 
yellow glow of my study lamp, which the 
faithful Jeannette had lit ere she went out. 

From this delicious reverie I was suddenly 
aroused by the barking of my dog, a mastiff 
I kept chained to the other side of my 
summer cottage — which was, by the way, the 
entrance for visitors. The barking continued, 
nobody appeared, and I grumhlingly 
recognised the necessity of getting out of 
the hammock to see what was amiss, calling 
out as I did so to my dog* 


Fpoph a PA**x tnk** in 
Bwdfattx in 1B99. 

11 Lie down, 
Corporal ! Be 
quiet ! " But 
I had not 
taken three re- 
luctant steps 
before the 

figure of a man sprang over the railings of 
the veranda and a voice called out huskily, 
"All right, Norland. It's I— Jasper Virel," 

It was lucky Virel spoke when he did, for 
moonlight is not daylight, and one does not 
relish people jumping over veranda railings 
so unceremoniously. 

"Virel!" I exclaimed. "What in the 
world are you doing here?" 

He was breathing heavily and beads of 
perspiration shone on his forehead* 

"Oh, I'll tell you all about it, old man," 
he answered, hurriedly. "I suppose I'm a 
little winded. And that dog of yours— Fd 
forgotten you kept a dog. Are you all 

" Yes. But what brings you here, Virel ? 
YouVe as white as a ghost. Is anything 
wrong ? " 

As I spoke I ushered him into the study 
and pointed to a chair, 

" Have a drop of brandy," I added. " You 
look knocked up." 

"Do I? Thanks— if it's handy." He took 
the tumbler from my hands and gulped down 
the liquor. " You see, I had nothing to 
do this evening. Time hung heavily on 
my hands, and it occurred to me to paddle 
over to the island. I thought you'd be 
glad to see me. But the truth is I'm out 
of canoe practice. The current was a bit 
strong, At one time I fancied I should 
go to the bottom ; at another I should drift 
over the raprdstfalf ran 




He looked at his watch. " I've been just 
fifty minutes in transit." 

I offered him a cigar, and in a few minutes 
all trace of his discomposure had completely 

The only son of Sir Hector Virel, a well- 
known provincial judge, Jasper had been my 
fellow-student at the University. He had 
taken up medicine, pursued it for awhile, and 
finally abandoned it in favour of his father's 
profession. Not without gifts, possessed of 
a comfortable fortune on Sir Hector's death, 
Virel had been urged into politics. His 
friends flattered him that he had the makings 
of a successful politician. 

Young as he was, he had managed easily 
to obtain a seat as representative of the 
district where his paternal property lay. 
Virel's style of oratory was rather vehement 
than subtle ; but 1 always supposed that he 
took the measure of his audience, and in his 
sounding phrases and plentiful clap trap he 
gave the good-natured habitants what they 
wanted. His tall figure and curly, reddish 
hair showed the influence of an English 
strain on the maternal side, Sir Hector 
having been somewhat short and dark, 
albeit with little of the French vivacity. 
Virel and I had seen less and less of each 
other since he left the University. We had 
slowly drifted apart — and, I am bound to 
add, to my relief. For which there was 
reason, as will later become manifest. 

Meanwhile, if I had, in the back chambers 
of my mind, harboured any suspicions con- 
cerning Virel's unheralded nocturnal visit, 
they became gradually extruded under the 
influence of his subsequent manner. 

"I hope, my dear Norland, you've no 
work to do or calls to make, or anything of 
that sort to-night," he said. "For I want 
to have a little chat and smoke with you. 
The fact is, I was feeling rather blue at my 
lodgings, and this visit to you was a sudden 
inspiration. I would have looked you up 
sooner, but I've been away at Murray Bay. 
I never could understand your aversion to 
holiday resorts, Norland. Such a manner of 
life is quite inexcusable for a man with your 
distinguished future. A seaside watering- 
place has often laid the foundation of a 
doctor's fortune." 

We both laughed, and Virel puffed humor- 
ously at his cigar. Seeing him so placid and 
self-possessed, I could not help an allusion 
fo the slight shock he had given my nervous 
system a quarter of an hour before. 

"One would have thought you were the 
most desperate criminal in the world/' I 

Digiiized by ^OOgle 

observed, in a spirit of raillery. "Jean 
Valjean couldn't have been more completely 
dramatic than you were." 

He started and stared at me. 


"just now. When you called out my 
name on the veranda." 

Virel poured out some more brandy and 
helped himself to another cigar. 

"By the by," he ejaculated, smiling, 
knocking the ashes into the silver tray I 
placed at his elbow, "what an infernal 
dunderhead I am ! It has all but slipped my 

" What ? " 

" The thing 1 came to chat with you 
about. I should like to know your opinion 
of Doyen's paper in the Scientific Review" 

" The Scientific Review f Doyen ? Impos- 
sible ! He never writes for the Scientific" 

" I stand corrected. It was not the 
Scientific Review^ of course. It must have 
been the Journal of Science, The title was 
' Modern Surgical Advance/ I have only 
seen extracts from it myself, and from what 
I read one would call it visionary." 

"I must postpone my judgment until I 
have seen the article. Odd that I should 
have missed all mention of it. Yet that's 
how it often is — one escapes just the very 
best things." 

" He cites the case of a patient at the 
Hopital du Midi whose entire digestive 
apparatus was removed and replaced to such 
excellent purpose that in a few days he 
walked oat of the hospital' as compact as 
ever. He goes on to say that surgery as now 
practised can alter, supplement, and restore 
Nature in almost every physical detail. Now, 
if I am not mistaken, you yourself had a quaint 
surgical conceit at college, Norland. You 
cannot have forgotten it ! Did you not say 
that a man's whole identity might, in the hands 
of a skilful surgeon, be effaced for ever 1" 

At the memory of this conceit I felt — I 
cannot say why — slightly uncomfortable. 
Instantly recollecting myself, however, I 
lightly replied : — 

" Yes, my dear Virel. I remember it 

" Do you remember when the Montreal 
police were engaged in tracking Jacques 

" The brute who killed a woman in 
Cathcart Street?" 

It may have been only a flicker of the 
lamp ; but I thought I saw Virel turn pale. 

" Precisely. You said to me then, ' Jasper, 
what fools these fellows are ! No criminal 




need be caught if he or his friends had 
merely extended the range of their studies.' 

" I distinctly recall it," said I, feeling still 
more uncomfortable. 

" And you still hold seriously that identity 
may be annihilated?" 

" I do. Time was when a wig and a 
pair of spectacles sufficed for a disguise. 
How much more circumspect the world is 
growing ! A more complete self-effacement 
is now necessary to avoid the consequences 
of recognition. Take, for example, your own 
person, Virel." I continued speaking rapidly, 
and, although smiling, yet with seriousness, 
" Years ago I pursued my investigations into 
this department so far that I gleaned suffi- 
cient knowledge wherewith to change the 
size, shape, and colour of your eye ; to 
metamorphose the contour and expression 
of your face by subcutaneous treatment of 
the flesh and bone and muscles ; to destroy, 
by aid of electrolysis, the hair follicles, and 
thereby widen your temples ; to substitute 
Roman for Celtic in the shape of your nose 
— not only to do all this, but to do it without 
a single noticeable scar." 

"Ha, ha!" chuckled Virel. "Your old 
hobby again with a vengeance ! " 

The fumes of an unwonted potation 
ascending to my brain, I grew somewhat 
reckless and more vehement. 

"Another process," I continued, "which 
you must admit would baffle the most 
astute, for, by sawing out, say, a two-inch 
section of the femur and similar sections of 
the tibia and fibula, your present height 
would diminish in proportion. Come, come, 
confess that Vidocq himself could not stand 
out against the loss of four inches of stature, 
eh ? Only I'm afraid there would be difficulty 
in finding a subject willing to undergo such 
a metamorphosis." 

Virel's manner scarcely changed. The 
tones of his voice were unaltered as he said 
slowly, " Don't despair, my dear Norland — not 
yet. How would I do? For this evening I 
have been unfortunate enough to commit 
that which goes, among outspoken folk, by 
an ugly term. They call it murder." 

Virel made this horrible declaration in a 
voice so calm — a calmness strangely allied 
in my mind to aberration of the mental 
faculties — and averted his gaze towards a 
landscape sketch on the wall so steadily, that 
I, too, sat for several moments, silent and 
riveted in my chair, mechanically puffing at 
the cigar I held in my fingers. 

Irritated, perhaps, by my apparent com- 
posure, Virel leapt to his feet. Throwing to 

the winds his former affected nonchalance, he 
leaned over to me and whispered hoarsely : — 

" Do you hear me, Norland ? Murder ! 
But, mark me, I was driven to it — as true as 
that heaven is above us, I was driven to it. 
As you may have suspected, there was a 
woman in my life — fiend, let me rather say 
— her name Louise Perrot. I broke with 
Louise weeks, months ago. I did everything 
in my power to get rid of her by fair means. 
I did everything I could to lead a decent life. 
But when this creature learnt of my engage- 
ment to Edith Dartwood, she was like a caged 
animal. She threatened, not once, but many 
times, to expose me to Edith and the Dart- 
woods, who have not been over-keen about 
the match. She swore to make it public that 
I had promised to marry her — her, Louise 
Perrot ! By all that's accursed," cried Virel, 
launching his arms wildly into space, " this 
was going too far ! As if I could have ever 
brought myself to wed one of her infernal 
species. But who knows ? The Dartwoods, 
Edith, the world, might have believed this 
woman. Norland, I felt I must stop those 
foul lips, or social and political ruin stared 
me in the face. I would bribe her. She 
came daily to my chambers. She black- 
mailed me, insulted me, tormented me 
until existence became the most intolerable 

" To-night, Norland, not two hours ago, I 
recognised her voice at the door of my 
chambers. My instructions to my servant 
not to admit her had been of no avail ; she 
flung herself past him. I tried vainly to 
secrete myself. She approached nearer. 
What was there left for me to do ? I wished 
to fly. She opened out upon me, and in a 
fit of desperation I caught up my dumb-bells 
from the floor. And " 

Virel sat down again. 

My dizziness fled, and as he sat down I 
rose to my feet. The brutality of the murder 
no less than the utter recklessness of its 
narration ; the motion of Virel's arms as he 
described the fatal impact of the iron dumb- 
bells chilled my blood, and at the same time 
cooled my brain. 

" At last ! " I said. " You have come to 
me at last." 

Complete as I wish this confession to be, 
I cannot bring myself to narrate the nature 
of the claim Virel had upon me. 

Enough that to Jasper Virel I, although 
innocent, owed my immunity from certain 
punishment ; to him, guilty or innocent, I 
was indebtedP^flolP ^security from public or 




private reproach. Never once had this 
thing, in the course of all the years, been 
mentioned between us ; never on those rare 
occasions Virel had hinted at, especially 
since my marriage, that we two met in the 
flesh. Virel's memory was tenacious ; it was 
impossible that Virel's magnanimity could 
have constrained him to forget the debt. 

Why may I not speak on ? Why may I 
not confess that for some years there had not 
been a day, an hour, a moment when the 
dread of being called upon to render Virel a 
sinister service in return for his own would 
not have affected me ? In vain I reproached 
myself with a lack of the common instincts 
of gratitude. I was unable to banish from 
my mind the notion that hrs dissipations and 
his amours would yet lead to a fatal reckon- 
ing between us. 

Virel seemed to read my thoughts and 
echoed my words. 

" At last ! Is it shabby of me to crave a 
return for so old a service ? So be it. Call 
it base— call it cowardly, if you will, but" — 
here Virel paused and his eyes blazed out 
at me — " but, Norland, you must stand 
between me and man's judgment ! " 

He drew forth his watch. 

11 Good God ! " he cried. " We have wasted 
three-quarters of an hour. My escape was. 
noticed directly the thing was done. After 
that, a half an hour of conjecture and the 
police will — but no, I have made that im- 
possible; but should I now attempt to go 
abroad — that is another matter. I am too 
well known. Escape in the ordinary sense 
of the term has become out of the question. 
My identity must be lost — lost — lost ! Do 
you hesitate, Norland? You have only 
one servant in the house. The risk to 
you is almost nothing. The operations 
may consume a week. At its expiration 
I must be transferred to a private hospi- 
tal in Montreal. I put myself in your 
hands. Use the proper local anaesthetics 
and I shall not feel the pain. I shall not 
take chloroform unless absolutely necessary." 

Virel strode to the window and drew in 
the shutters. He likewise turned up the 
wicks of the lamp. 

" Not enough light, Norland," he said. 
"It will not do." 

" It will answer to begin with," I replied. 

Meanwhile, in a state which I can only 
feebly describe in Hegelian terms as "not 
me," I occupied myself in first locking the 
door and then bolting and screening the 
windows. This action exhibited the first 
steps in my guilty complicity in what was 

Digitized by LiOOQ IC 

about to take place. You, reader, who do 
not understand the fascination exerted by my 
profession — a fascination which impels even 
its youngest votaries to become heartless 
grave-ghouls, leads them not to shrink from 
inflicting pain if some hidden truth can be 
wrung therefrom or some fresh postulate put 
to the proof — cannot, perhaps, understand 
fully my spirit of acquiescence in that which 
Virel proposed. You cannot fathom the full 
extent of my temptation. 

When I turned round again Virel's coat 
was off. With the lighted lamp in his hand, 
he approached the cheval mirror which stood 
in a corner of the room and turned the 
rays full upon his figure. 

"Jasper Virel, age twenty-seven, height 
five feet ten and a half inches, slender in 
build, hair and beard brown inclined to 
auburn, straight ; eyes — ah ! eyes a bluish 
grey, complexion fair, cheeks ruddy, nose 
slightly tilted, chin rather prominent, mole 
on left cheek. Jasper Virel, adieu ! We are 
now, if Norland's hand be steady, seeing 
each other for the last time on earth." 

" Cut short this mummery," I cried, testily. 

" Mummery," echoed Virel, with a leer, 
as he set down the lamp. " I actually see 
those cursed police placards already, I can 
see the hounds of the law on my track. How 
they would like to nab me, eh? What a 
feather it would be in their caps. But stay 
one moment, Norland." 

With a composure that was maddening, 
Virel seated himself before me and extracted 
a small morocco note-book from his pocket. 
He then read out a series of notes jotted 
down, I was disconcerted to observe, in my 
own handwriting: — 

The Eye. — Palpebral cartilage : by taking out a 
small section of the palpebral cartilage of the eye, 
lenticular, of course, carefully suture the edges. 
Antiseptic bandaging — blind for a fortnight. 

Nose. — A slight incision down the bridge to the 
bone ; remove the nasal spine and transplant this to 
the prominence. To make the chip adhere, create a 
raw surface. Cut the nasal branch of the facial nerve ! 
Alters the whole facial expression, and no scar. 

" Pardieu ! what is this ? Another ingenious 
stroke, or I am Jasper Virel for ever ! " 

Sever the deep branches of the infraorbital nerve. 
Muscles of the larynx — involves a dropping of the 
glottis and stretches the membrane. 

" Excellent, Norland ! " 

Habitual contraction of the forehead — 

" Will tell against me anywhere —must be 


Cut corrugatvr eupercilii — the supra hyoid also 

will require cutting. Chin too small and pointed : 

Dissect back the muscles covering the tip and saw 

away the prominence^ pal from 



I will draw a veil over 
the experiences of the next 
few hours. 

Morning dawned Virel 
had lost the use of sight 
and speech. He demanded, 
by signs, a pad and pencil, 
and not without consider- 
able difficulty traced these 
words : — 

" 1 can safely pose as 
a lupus patient." 

For six days and nights 
the murderer of Louise 
Perrot remained securely 
focked in my study. Every- 
thing moved to Virel's 
advantage. I retained but 
a single servant in the 
house, my housekeeper, 
well on in years, highly 
attached to me and deaf 
into the bargain. Under 
the circumstances neither 
of us felt cause for the 
least perturbation. The 
exigencies of my profes- 
sion would have tended 
readily to explain the pre- 
sence of a patient beneath 
my own roof. 

At my club in Montreal 
I read the accounts of the 
murder which appeared in 
the newspapers. I read 
of the discovery of the 
body — of the arraign- 
ment of Virel as the 
man who had done the 
deed, together with 
the usual theories as to 
motive and the present whereabouts of 
the murderer. Daily thereafter I perused 
the detailed accounts of his person in the 
possession of the authorities and gazed 
upon the portraits of Virel published far and 
wide in the newspapers. A sensation of 
malicious triumph, which my better instincts 
were unable to suppress, crept over me + 1 
participated, in short, in the precise emotions 
which commonly characterize the criminal 
When, day succeeding day, the citizens cried, 
" Where is Jasper Virel ? " so I, day by day, 
secretly answered them, "Safe! Shut out 
from the knowledge of every living, breathing 
thing except us two, Where is Virel? He 
is alive, but where the clutches of the law 

will never reach him ! " 
Original from 



" Enough ! JJ I cried. " Surgery has moved 
since then. Leave this devils business to 
me, I shall use paraffin injections for your 
nose and chin." 

M Paraffin injections ! " cried VireL " I 
never heard of them." 

"No matter. It is the latest method. 
Paraffin injected subeutaneously is moulded 
into shape." 

Laughing fiercely, he shut up the book and 
told me to get 10 work. Glancing on a level 
with his eye, he perceived a pair of scissors. 
When I returned with my case of instruments 
the steel blades were upraised and his hand 
was clutching at the fibres of his beard. 

He then demanded a razor and shaved 

Digitized by C^( 




At dusk on Saturday evening — the murder 
had been committed on the preceding Mon- 
day — Yirel was removed in my brougham to 
an address he had given me. I caused him 
to be entered on the books under a false 
name as a sufferer from an incurable disease. 
My own name and professional status being 
well known to the matron in charge of 
the private hospital, no further questions 
were asked. When he entered, both lower 
limbs in mock splints and swathed in 
bandages from head to footj I had taken the 
further precaution of charging Virel's hair 
with a solution of peroxide of hydrogen. 
At this retreat I instantly resumed my 

If my task was brought to a successful 
termination, according to the methods I in- 
tended to employ, Virel would retain both 
limbs normal and active, coincident with the 
loss of four inches of stature. This much 
accomplished, I said to myself, * £ he will be 
as free as the air. 1 ' 

On the day when I first removed the 
bandages from his face I sent the nurse out of 
the room. I then unwound the linen and sud- 
denly confronted my handiwork. For the first 
time in my professional experience my nerve 

Digitized by CiOOgle 

forsook me. Yet it was not more than I had 
expected. The countenance exposed was not 
that of Jasper VireL There was a jug of 
water at hand. I turned aside and bathed 
my temples before I could resume my task. 
The white, altered face beneath mine filled 
me with nausea, 

Virel did not at all relish my evidences of 

" It's not ail your work, Norland/' he 
said between his clenched teeth. " I have 
added a little recipe of my own. The skull 
has a yellow, corpse-like appearance, has it 
not? It's the effect of chemical action on 
the corpuscles, and will soon wear away. 
Are you satisfied ? " 

He asked for a mirror. It chanced there 
was none in the chamber. 

"Just as well/ 1 said he, still without any 
movement of the lips ; " I want to kill two 
birds with one stone. Bandage my eyes 
again, You will find the memorandum-book 
under my pillow. Turn to the top of the 
leaf folded over in the middle." 

I followed his directions, and read my own 
memorandum as follows : — 

" Belladonna, althus, atropine, and brown 
aniline dye. Inject into punctures at the 




edge of the cornea. Direct the needle towards 
the iris. Two drops will suffice," 

+l I shall use esserine," I said. 

I had devoted no little time to ascertaining 
and analyzing the requisite ingredients. That 
it would alter the hue of the iris as surely 
as my knife could puncture successfully an 
optic artery, 1 had little doubt While 
warning Virel of the danger > I proceeded to 
procure the drugs to accomplish the result 
he desired* 

Despite all the emotions I sustained in 
solitude, and occasionally in the presence of 
Virel, during the whole course of these 
criminal operations, I evinced any but a 
commonplace demeanour towards my family, 
friends, or regular patients, I spent at least 
four hours daily at my office, as the special 
nature of my surgical pursuit commanded 
for the most part 
a visaing clien- 
tele. On the 
whole I averaged 
two hours 1 daily 
attendance upon 
VireL A nurse, 
specially allotted 
to him, admini- 
stered his food 
in a condensed 
form and read lo 
him hooks and 
newspapers in his 
waking hours. 

Virel mani- 
fested at first a 
keen, insatiable 
curiosity as to 
what the news- 
paj>ers had ro 
say on the sub- 
ject of his crime. 
Latterly, how- 
ever, this trait 
vanished com- 
pletely, and a 
phlegmatic reti- 
cence on his part 
succeeded, The 
silence which 
marked our latter 
interviews I attri^ 
buted partially to 
remorse and partly to his exhausted physical 
state, as well as to a certain powerful drug he 
still persisted in taking. 

Details surrounding the tragedy hitherto 
hidden even from me became public property 
now, Virel's engagement to Miss Dart wood, 


Vol. nxvoL- 



the only daughter of a prosperous banker, 
became freely discussed. In every quarter 
this young lady was described in the highest 
terms of commendation, and her situation 
evoked the most unaffected sympathy, Miss 
Dan wood had been engaged to Jasper Virel 
for barely two months. 

On their part, the police had traced a fact 
bearing no little significance in estimating 
the character of the crime. Two' days prior 
to the murder Virel had drawn from the 
bank, of which his Jiangs father was the 
chairman, no less a sum than twenty-one 
thousand dollars in gold and bills. This 
revelation struck me at once, as it did the 
police, as proof of the premeditation of 
Virel's crime, this sum Virel having doubt- 
less removed to some secure spot in 
anticipation of the crime itself. 

One evening 
—I find by my 
diary it was the 
nineteenth of 
September- — I 
admitted myself 
to the premises 
where Virel was 
confined, with 
the aid of a key 
in my posses- 
sion* His room 
was on the 
second floor, 
there being at 
that time some 
half-dozen other 
occupants of the 
Half- way up the 
stairs I met the 
nurse, who, sud- 
denly turning 
back, preceded 
me and, without 
giving vent to a 
syllable, threw 
open the door of 
Virel'i chamber. 
Brushing past 
her, I gave a 
quick, keen 
glance around 
me, Virel's bed 
was empty. The thousand fragments of a 
hand mirror lay strewn upon the floor 


Nineteen years after the disappearance of 
Jasper Virel, in the summer of 1908* I 
Original from 




happened to be at Bordeaux. Entering a 
restaurant about noon, I ordered dejeuner. 
In the middle of the repast my eyes fell upon 
a middle-aged man, of striking appearance, 
exactly opposite me. I especially noted his 
steel -grey hair, high forehead, with black 
arching brows and prominent chin. There 
was no previous thought of anyone in my 
mind, but almost before I had time to 
connect this man's appearance with the 
transient vision I had had of the murderer 
of Louise Perrot nineteen years before 
I felt instinctively that I looked once 
again upon Jasper Virel ! 

For a moment my heart stopped 
beating. Nineteen years — yes, but I 
would have wagered a thousand pounds 
upon it. There was no mistake; I 
even noted the exact spot on his cheek 
where I had severed the infraorbital 

My appetite deserted me : my only 
thought was to escape from the place 
without observation. To the query I 
addressed the waiter, that functionary 
replied : — 

"Ce monsieur Ik? Oh, that is 
Monsieur Bartlett. An Englishman — 
a^ent of a steamship line to the 
Congo. He has lived much in Africa, 

At that moment the soi-disant Mr. 
Bartlett's eye caught mine* His pupils 
dilated ; he half rose, as if involuntarily, 
and sank down again* 

As for me, I paid my bill and departed 
hurriedly. Scarce twenty yards had I 
gone on my way to the steamer which 
was to bear me to England when I 
was conscious of being followed* I 
wheeled about on the instant and 
recognised my vis-a-vis in the restaurant 
— the man who had mysteriously fled 
from Montreal nineteen years before. 
Deeply moved, irritated, resentful, 
"Jasper Virel! ' I burst forth. 

The man's face went ashen. 

" Excuse me — my name is Bartlett," 
he stammered. 

"Very well, Mr. Bartlett/' I flung out, 
abruptly. " Adieu ! " 

But his hand was on my arm — a hand I 
knew so well. 

£i Virel 3 " he stammered. " You said 
Jasper Virel ! " 

He bent an earnest, pleading, almost 

piteous face towards mine. I gazed upon 
him in utter amazement. And then a hint 
of some great, unfathomable mystery, of a 
psychical process never to be revealed until 
the Day of Judgment, came over me— an 
inkling of a metamorphosis complete and 
appalling indeed* The change in the body 
had, indeed, resulted in as complete a change 
in the mind. The occult altering wand 
had passed over memory itself! I tried to 
disengage my arm, 


"Stop! Who is Jasper Virel? 1 ' he 
whispered, hoarsely. 

There was no escape. The man's sincerity 
was transparent* 

u He was a man I knew " I made answer* 
"He is dead now; and may Heaven have 
mercy on his soul ! " 

by Google 

Original from 

EJIAttRen . 

J. A- Shepherd. 


T is evident that, in what is 
railed the evolution of animal 
forms, the foot came in sud- 
denly when the backboned 
creatures began to live on the 
dry land — that is, with the 
How it came in is a question which 

still puzzles the phylogervists, who can- 
not find a sure pedigree for the frog. 
There it is, anyhow, and the remark- 
able paint about it is that the foot of 
a frog is not a rudimentary thing, but 
an authentic standard foot, like the 
yard measure kept in the Tower of 
London, of which all other feet are 
copies or adaptations. This instru- 
ment, as part of the original outfit 
given to the pioneers of the brainy, 
backboned, and four -limbed races, 
when they were sent out to multiply 
and replenish the earth, is surely 
worth considering well It consists 
essentially of a sole, or palm, made up 
of small hones, and of five separate 
digits, each with several joints. 

In the hind foot of a frog the toes 
are very long and webbed from point 
to point In this it differs a good 
deal from the toad, and there is signi- 
ficance in ihe difference. The "heavy- 
gaited , toad," satisfied with sour ants, 

hard beetles, and such other fare as it can 
easily pick up, and grown nasty in conse- 
quence, so that nothing seeks to eat it, 
has hobbled through life, like a plethoric 
old gentleman , until the present day, on 
its original feet* The more versatile and 
nimble- witted frog, seeking better diet and 

by Google 


Original from 



greater security of life, went back to the 
element in which it was bred and, swimming 
much, became better fitted for swimming. 
The soft elastic skin between the fingers or 
toes is just the sort of tissue which responds 
most readily to inward impulses, and we find 
that the very same change has come about 
in those birds and beasts which live much in 
water. I know that this is not the accepted 
theory of evolution, but I am waiting till it 
shall become so. We all develop in the 
direction of our tendencies, and shall, I doubt 
not, be wise enough some day to give animals 
leave to do the same. 

It seems strange that any creature, fur- 
nished with such tricky and adaptable instru- 
ments to go about the world with, should 
tire of them and wish to get rid of them, but 
scMt happened at a very early stage. It must 
have been a consequence, I think, of growing 
too fast. Mark Twain remarked about a 
dachshund that it seemed to want another 
pair of legs in the middle to prevent it 
sa gging- Now, some lizards are so long that 
they cannot keep from sagging and their 
progress becomes a painful wriggle. But if 
you must go by wriggling, then what is the 
use of legs to knock against stems and stones? 
So some lizards have discarded two of their 
legs and some all four. Zoologically they 
are not snakes, but snakes are only a further 
advance in the same direction. That snakes 
did not start fair without legs is clear, for the 
python has to this day two tell-tale leg-bones 
buried in its flesh. 

When we pass from reptiles to birds, lo ! 
an astounding thing has happened. That 
there were flying reptiles in the fossil ages we 
know, and there are flying beasts in our own. 
But the wings of these are simple mechanical 
alterations, which the imagination of a child, 
or a savage, could explain. 

The hands of a bat are hands still, and, 
though the fingers are hampered by their awk- 
ward gloves, the thumbs are free. The giant 
fruit bats of the tropics clamber about the 
trees quite acrobatically with their thumbs 
and feet. 

That Apollyonic monster of the prime, the 
pterodactyl, did even better. Stretching on 
each little finger a lateen sail that would have 
served to waft a skiff across the Thames, it 
kept the rest of its hands for other uses. 
But what bearing has all this on the case of 
birds? Here is a whole sub-kingdom, as 
they call it, of the animal world which has 
unreservedly and irrevocably bartered one 
pair of its limbs for a flying-machine. The 
apparatus is made of feathers — a new inven- 

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tion, unknown to amphibian or saurian, 
whence obtained nobody can say — and these 
are grafted into the transformed frame of the 
old limbs. The bargain was worth making, 
for the winged bird at once soared away in 
all senses from the creeping things of earth 
and became a more ethereal being ; " like a 
blown flame, it rests upon the air, subdues 
it, surpasses it, outraces it ; it is the air, con- 
scious of itself, conquering itself, ruling itself." 
But the price was heavy. The bird must get 
through life with one pair of feet and its 
mouth. But this was all the bodily furniture 
of Charles Francois Felu, who, without arms, 
became a famous artist. 

A friend of mine, standing behind him in 
a salon and watching him at work, saw him 
lay down his brush and, raising his foot to 
his head, take off his hat and scratch his 
crown with his great toe. My friend was 
nearly hypnotized by the sight, yet it scarcely 
strikes us as a wonder when a parrot, stand- 
ing on one foot, takes its meals with the 
other. It is a wonder, and stamps the parrot 
as a bird of talent. A mine of hidden 
possibilities is in us all, but those who dig 
resolutely into it and bring out treasure 
are few. 

And let us note that the art of standing 
began with birds. Frogs sit, and, as far as I 
know, every reptile, be it lizard, crocodile, 
alligator, or tortoise, lays its body on the 
ground when not actually carrying it. And 
these have each four fat legs. Contrast the 
flamingo, which, having only two, and those 
like willow wands, tucks up one of them and 
sleeps poised high on the other, like a tulip 
on its stem. 

Note also that one toe has been altogether 
discarded by birds as superfluous. The 
germ, or bud, must be there, for the Dorking 
fowl has produced a fifth toe under some 
influence of the poultry-yard, but no natural 
bird has more than four. Except in swifts, 
which never perch, but cling to rocks and 
walls, one is turned backwards, and, by a 
cunning contrivance, the act of bending the 
leg draws them all automatically together. 
So a hen closes its toes at every step it takes, 
as if it grasped something, and, of course, 
when it settles down on its roost, they grasp 
that tight and hold it fast till morning. But 
to birds that do not perch this mechanism is 
only an encumbrance, so many of them, like 
the plovers, abolish the hind toe entirely, and 
the prince of all two-legged runners, the 
ostrich, has got rid of one of the front toes 
also, retaining only two. 

To a man who thinks, it is very interesting 

Original from 



to observe that beasts have been led along 
gradually in the very same direction. All the 
common beasts, such as cats, dogs, rats, 
stoats, and so on, have five ordinary toes. 
On the hind feet there may be only four. 
But as soon as we come to those that feed on 
grass and leaves, standing or walking all the 
while, we find that the feet are shod with 
hoofs instead of being tipped with claws. 
First the five toes, though clubbed together, 
have each a separate hoof, as in the elephant ; 
then the hippopotamus follows with four toes, 
and the rhino- 
ceros with practi- 
cally three. 
These beasts are 
all clodhoppers, 
and their feet are 
hobnailed boots. 
The more active 
deer and all 
cattle keep only 
two toes for 
practical pur- 
poses, though 
stumps of two 
more remain. 
Finally, the horse 
gathers all its foot 
into one boot 
and becomes the 
champion runner 
iof the world. 

It is not with- 
out significance 
that this degene- 
racy of the feet 
goes with a 
decline in the 
brain, whether as 
cause or effect I 
will not pretend 
to know. These 
hoofed beasts 
have shallow 

natures and live shallow lives. They eat 
what is spread by Nature before their 
noses, have no homes, and do nothing 
but feed and fight with each other. The 
elephant is a notable exception, but then 
the nose of the elephant, becoming a hand, 
has redeemed its mind. As for the horse, 
whatever its admirers may say, it is just a 
great ass. There is a lesson in all this : 
•'from him that hath not shall be taken even 
that which he hath." 

There is another dull beast which, from 
the point of view of the mere systematist, 
seems as far removed from those that wear 

hoofs as it could be, but the philosopher, 
considering the point at which it has arrived, 
rather than the route by which it got there, 
will class it with them, for its idea of life is 
just theirs turned topsy-turvy. The nails of 
the sloth, instead of being hammered into 
hoofs on the hard ground, have grown long 
and curved, like those of a caged bird, and 
become hooks by which it can hang, without 
effort, in the midst of the leaves on which it 
feeds. A minimum of intellect is required 
for such an existence, and the sloth has lost 
any superfluous brain that it may have 
had, as well as two, or even three, of 
its five toes. 

To return to those birds and beasts 


with standard feet, I find that the first outside 
purpose for which they find them serviceable 
is to scratch themselves. This is a universal 
need. But a foot is handy in many other 
ways. A hen and chickens, getting into my 
garden, transferred a whole flower-bed to the 
walk in half an hour. Yet a bird trying to 
do anything with its foot is like a man putting 
on his socks standing, and birds as a race 
have turned their feet to very little account 
outside of their original purpose. Such a 
simple thing as holding down its food with 
one foot scarcely occurs to an ordinary bird. 
A hen will pull about a cabbage leaf and 

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shake it in the hope that a small piece may 
come away, but it never enters her head to 
put her foot on it* In this and other 
matters the parrot stands apart, and also the 
hawk, eagle, and owl ; but these are not 
ordinary birds. 

Beasts, having twice as many feet 
as bin Is, have learned to apply 
them to many uses, They dig with 
them, hold down their food with 
them, fondle their children with 
them, paw their friends, 
and scratch their 
enemies. One does more 
of one thing and another 
of another, and the feet 

soon show the effects of the occupa- 
tion, the claws first, then the muscles, 
and even the bones dwindling by 
disuse, or waxing stout and strong* 
Then the joy of doing what it can 
do well impels the beast further on the 
same path, and its offspring after it 

And this leads at last to specialism. 

The Indian black bear is a "handy 

man/' like the British Tar — good all 

round. Its great soft paw is a very 

serviceable tool and weapon, armed 

with claws which will take the face 

off a man or grub up a root with 

equal ease. When a black bear has 

found an ant-hill it takes but a few minutes 

to tear up the hard, cemented clay and 

lay the deep galleries bare ; then, putting 

its gutta perdia muzzle to the mouth of 

each, it draws such a blast of air through 

them that* the industrious labourers are 

sucked into its gullet in drifts. Afterwards 

it digs right down to theroyal chamber, licks 

up the bloated queen, and goes its way. 

But there is another worker in the same 
mine which does not go to work its way. The 
ant-eater found Tat termites so satisfying 
that it left all other things and devoted 
its life to the exploiting of ant-hills, and 
now it has no rival at that business, but 
it is fit for nothing else, Its awkward 
digging tools will not allow it to put 
the sole of its foot to the ground, so 
it has to double them under and hobble 
about like a Chinese lady. It has no 
teeth, and stupidity is the most promi- 
nent feature of its character It has 
become that poor thing, a man of one idea. 


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Original from 



But the bear is like a sign-post at a parting 
of the ways. If you compare a brown bear 
with the black Indian, or sloth bear, as it is 
sometimes called, you may detect a small 
but pregnant difference. When the former 
walks, its claws are lifted, so that their points 
do not touch the ground. Why ? I have no 
information, but I know that it is not content 
with a vegetarian diet, like its black relative, 
but hankers after sheep and goats, and I 
guess that its murderous thoughts flow down 
its nerves to those keen claws. It reminds 
me of a man clenching his fist unconsciously 
when he thinks of the liar who has slandered 

But what ages of concentration on the 
thought and practice of assassination must 
have been required to perfect that most awful 
weapon in Nature, the paw of a tiger, or, 
indeed, of any cat, for they are all of one 
pattern. The sharpened flint of the savage 
has become the scimitar of Saladin, keeping 
the keenness of its edge in a velvet sheath 
and flashing out only on the field of battle. 
Compare that paw with the foot of a dog and 
you will, perhaps, see with me that the servility 
and pliancy of the slave of man has usurped a 
place in his esteem which is not its due. The 
cat is much the nobler animal. Dogs, with 
wolves, jackals, and all of their kin, love to 
fall upon their victim in. overwhelming force, 
like a rascally mob, and bite, tear, and worry 
until the life has gone out of it; the tiger, 
rushing single-handed, with a fearful chal- 
lenge, on the gigantic buffalo, grasps its nose 
with one paw and its shoulder with the other, 
and has broken its massive neck in a manner 
so dexterous and instantaneous that scarcely 
two sportsmen can agree about how the thing 
is done. 

I have said that the foot first appeared 
when the backboned creatures came out of 
the waters to live upon the dry land. But 
all mundane things (not excepting politics) 
tend to move in circles, ending where they 
began ; and so the foot, if we follow it far 
enough, will take us back into water. See 
how the rat — I mean our common, omnivor- 
ous, scavenging, thieving, poaching brown 
rat — when it lives near a pond or stream, 
learns to swim and dive as naturally as a 
duck. Next comes the vole, or water-rat, 
which will not live away from water. Then 
there are water shrews, the beaver, otter, 
duck-billed platypus, and a host of others, 
not related, just as, among birds, there are 
water ousels, moorhens, ducks, divers, etc., 
which have permanently made the water 
their home and seek their living in it. All 

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these have attained to web-footedness in a 
greater or less degree. 

That this has occurred among reptiles, 
beasts, and birds alike shows what an easy, 
or natural, or obvious (put it as you will) 
modification it is. And it has a consequence 
not to be escaped. Just as a man who rides 
a great deal and never walks acquires a certain 
indirectness of the legs, and you never mistake 
a jockey for a drill-sergeant, so the web-footed 
beasts are not among the things that are 
"comely in going." 

Following this road you arrive at the seal 
and sea-lion. Of all the feet that I have 
looked at I know only one more utterly 
ridiculous than the twisted flipper on which 
the sea-lion props his great bulk in front, 
and that is the forked fly -flap which ex- 
tends from the hinder parts of the same. 
How can it be worth any beast's while to 
carry such an absurd apparatus with it just 
for the sake of getting out into the air some- 
times and pushing oneself about on the ice 
and being eaten by Polar bears ? The por- 
poise has discarded one pair, turned the 
other into decent fins, and recovered a grace 
and power of motion in water which is not 
equalled by the greyhound on land. Why 
have the seals hung back ? I believe I know 
the secret. It is the baby ! No one knows 
where the porpoise and the whale cradle their 
new-born infants — it is so difficult to pry into 
the domestic ways of these sea people— but 
evidently the seals cannot manage it, so they 
are forced to return to the land when the 
cares of maternity are on them. 

I have called the feet of these sea beasts 
ridiculous things, and so they are as we see 
them ; but strip off the skin, and lo ! there 
appears a plain foot, with its five digits, each 
of several joints, tipped with claws — nowise 
essentially different, in short, from that with 
which the toad, or frog, first set out in a 
past too distant for our infirm imagination. 
Admiration itself is paralyzed by a con- 
trivance so simple, so transmutable, and so 
sufficient for every need that time and change 
could bring. 

There remains yet one transformation which 
seems simple compared with some that I have 
noticed, but is more full of fate than they all ; 
for by it the foot becomes a hand. This comes 
about by easy stages. The reason why one of a 
bird's four toes is turned back is quite plain: 
trees are the proper home of birds, and they 
require feet that will grasp branches. So those 
beasts also that have taken to living in trees 
have got one toe detached more or less from 
the rest and arranged so that it can co-operate 

Original from 




with them to catch hold of a tiling, Then 
other changes quickly follow. For, in 
judging whether you have got hold of a 
thing and how much force you must put 
forth to keep hold of it, you are guided 
entirely by the pressure on the finger-points, 
and to gauge this pressure nicely the nerves 
must be refined and educated. In fact, the 
exercise itself, with the intent direction uf the 
tnind to the finger- points, brings about the 
refinement and education hi accordance with 
Sandow's principle of muscle culture, 

For an example of the result do not look 
at the gross paw of any so called anthropoid 
ape s gorilla, orangoutang, or chimpanzee, but 
study the gentle lemur. At the point of 
each digit is a broad elastic pad, plentifully 
supplied with delicate nerves, and the vital 
energy which has been directed into them 
appears to have been withdrawn from the 
growth of the claws, which have shrunk into 
fine nails just shielding the fleshy tips. In 
short, the lemur has a hand on each of its 
four limbs, and no feet at all And as it 
goes about its cage — I am at the Zoo in 
spirit — with a silent wonder shining out of its 
great eyes, it examines things hy feeling theci 
with its hands. 

by Google 

How plainly a new avenue from the outer 
world into its mind has been opened by 
those fingers! But how about scratching? 
What would be the gain of having higher 
susceptibilities and keener perceptions if they 
only aggravated the triumph of the insulting 
flea? Nay, this disaster h:is been averted by 
reserving a good, sharp claw nn the forefinger 
(not the thumb) of each hind hand, 

The old naturalists called the apes and 
lemurs Quadrumana, the i: four handed/ and 
separated the Bimana, with one species 
— namely, Homo sapiens. Now* we have 
anatomy cited to belittle the difference 
between a hand and a foot, and geology 
importuned to show us the missing link, 
pending which an order has been instituted 
roomy enough to hold monkeys, gorillas, 
and men. It is a strange perversity, Hew 
much more fitting jt were to bow in reverent 
ignorance before the perfect hand, taken up 
irum the ground, no more to dull its per- 
cipient surfaces on earth and stunes and 
bark, but to minister to its lord's expanding 
mind and obey his creative will, while his 
frame stands upright and firm upon a 
single pair of true feet, with their toes nil 
in one rank. 

Original from 

The WHite PropKet. 


[The reader who has not followed the previous portions of this story can readily understand and enjoy 
the following chapters by simply bearing in mind that Colonel Gordon Lord, who is in love with 
Helena, ihe daughter of the General of the British Army of Occupation in Egypt, has been ordered 
to arrest Ishmael Ameer, known as the " White Prophet," and to close the University of El Azhar (the greatest 
seat of Mohammedan learning in the world), and, after a terrific struggle betwctm his conscience and his 
duty as a soldier, has refused to carry out his commands, which are transferred to Colonel Macfarlane. In 
consequence of this refusal his decorations have been stripped from him and his sword broken by the father 
of the girl he loves. Subsequently, in a stormy interview, the General attacks him in a fit of fury, and 
in the ensuing struggle falls dead, while the Colonel believes that he is himself guilty of his murder. 
Colonel Macfarlane, while carrying out his orders, is assaulted by Colonel Lord, who, feeling his reputation 
ruined, remains in hiding. Shortly after, in the disguise of a Bedouin, he decides to go to Khartoum, 
to which place Ishmael Ameer is also on his way, leaving Helena under the impression that her father has been 
murdered by the " White Prophet." In the dress of a Parsee lady Helena, for purposes of reverse, also goes 
to Khartoum, where she encounters Ishmael Ameer, and while acting as his secretary becomes his betrothed. 
In pursuance of her plan, Helena advises the Consul-General (Gordon Lord's father) of Ishmael Ameer's forth- 
coming return to Cairo. Subsequently she has a dramatic meeting with Gordon Lord, who confesses, to her 
consternation, that he, and not Ishmael Ameer, killed her father.] 

SECOND BOOK —The Light of the World. 

HAT day the Sirdar had held 
his secret meeting of the 
Ulema, the sheikhs, and nota- 
bles of Khartoum. Into a 
room on the ground floor of 
the Palace, down a dark, arched 
corridor in which British soldiers stood on 
guard, they had been introduced one by 
one— a group of six or eight unkempt crea- 
tures of varying ages and of differing degrees 
of intelligence — nearly all wearing the fara- 
geeyeh, the loose grey robe as of a Moslem 

They sat awkwardly on the chairs which 
had been ranged for them about a mahogany 
table, and while they waited they talked in 
whispers. There was a tense, electrical 
atmosphere among them, as of internal dis- 
sension — the rumbling of a sort of subter- 
ranean thunder. 

But this subsided instantly when the voice 
of the sergeant outside, and the clash of 
saluting arms, announced the coming of the 
Sirdar. The Governor-General, who was in 
uniform and booted and spurred, as if return- 
ing from a ride, was accompanied by his 
Inspector- General, his Financial Secretary, 
the Governor of the town, and various minor 

He was received by the sheikhs, all stand- 
ing, with sweeping salaams from floor to fore- 
head, a circle of smiles, and looks of com- 
plete accord. 

The Sirdar, with his ruddy and cheerful 
face, took his seat at the head of the table 

VoU xxxviii. — 5. Copyright, 1009, by Hall Caine, 

Digitized by Li* 

and began by asking, as if casually, who 
was the stranger that had arrived that day in 

"A Bedouin," said the Cadi. "One 
whom Ishmael Ameer loves and who loves 

"Yet a Bedouin, you say?" asked the 
Sirdar, in an incredulous tone, and with a 
certain elevation of the eyebrows. 

" A Bedouin, O Excellency ! " repeated the 
Cadi, whereupon the others, without a word 
of further explanation, bent their turbaned 
heads in assent. 

Then the Sirdar explained the reason for 
which he had called them together. 

"I am given to understand," he said, 
"that the idea is abroad that the Govern- 
ment has been trying to introduce changes 
into the immutable law of Islam, which 
forms an integral part of your Moslem 
religion, and is, therefore, rightly regarded 
with a high degree of veneration by all 
followers of the Prophet. If anybody is 
* telling you this, or if anyone is saying that 
there is any prejudice against you because 
you are Mohammedans, he is a wicked and 
mischievous person, and I beg of you to tell 
me who he is." 

Saying this, the Sirdar looked sharply 
round the table, but met nothing there but 
blank and expressionless faces. Then, turn- 
ing to the Cadi, who, as Chief Judge of the 
Mohammedan Law Courts, had been consti- 
tuted spokesman, he asked pointedly what 
Ishmael Ameer was saying. 

"Nothing, O Excellency," said the Cadi; 

in the United States of A!peii:n* 




** nothing that is contrary to the Sharia — the* 
religious law of Islam/' 

" Is he telling the people to resist the 
Government ? M 

The grave company about the table silently 
shook their heads. 

(i Do you know if he has anything to do 
with a conspiracy to resist the payment of 
taxes ? " 

The grave company knew nothing. 

"Then what is he doing, and why has he 
come to Khartoum ? Pasha, have yon no 
explanation to make to me?" asked the 
Sirdar, singling out a vivacious old gentle- 
man, with a short, white, carefully- oiled 
beard — a person of doubtful repute, who had 

once been a shve- dealer, and was now living 
patriarchal I y, under the protection of the 
Government, with his many wives and con- 

The old black sinner cast his little glitter 
ing eyes around the room, and then said : — 
"If you ask me, O master, I say Ishmael 
Ameer is putting down polygamy and divorce, 
and ought himself to he put down. 3 " 

At that there was some clamour among the 
Ulema, and the Sirdar thought he saw a rift 
through which he might discover the truth; but 
the Fas ha was soon silenced, and in a moment 
there was the same unanimity as before. 

"Then what is he?" asked the Sirdar, 
whereupon a venerable old sheikh, after the 
usual Arabic compli- 
ments and apologies, 
said that f having seen 
the new teacher with his 
own eyes and talked with 
him, he had now not 
the slightest doubt that 
Ishmael was a man sent 
from God f and, there- 
fore, that all who re- 
sisted him, all who tried 
to put him down, would 
perish miserably. 

At these words the 
el ectri cal at m osphe re, 
which had been held 
in subjection, seemed 
to burst into flame. In 
a moment six tongues 
were talking together. 
One sheikh, with wild 
eyes, told of Ishmael 1 s 
intercourse with angels. 
Another knew a man 
who had seen him 
riding with the Prophet 
in the desert A third 
hnd spoken to some- 
body who had seen 
angels , in the form of 
d o ves, descending u po n 
him from the skies, and 
a fourth was ready to 
swear that one day while 
Ishmael was preaching 
in the mosque people 
heard a voice from 
heaven crying, u Hear 
him! He is My 


Willi A\<il-:i.s. 

messenger ! ' 

11 W h a t w a s 
preaching about ? H 
the Sirdar. 


by Google 

Original from 



"The last days, the coming of the 
Deliverer," said the sheikh with the wild 
eyes, in an awesome whisper. 

"What Deliverer?" 

"The Shaidna Isa — the Lord Jesus — the 
White Christ that is to come." 

u Is this to be soon ? " 

" Soon, O Excellency, very soon." 

After this outburst there was a moment of 
tense and breathless silence, during which 
the Sirdar sat with his serious eyes fixed on 
the table, and his officers, standing behind, 
glanced at each other and smiled. 

A moment afterwards the Sirdar put an 
end to the interview. 

"Tell your people," he said, "that the 
Government have no wish to interfere with 
your religious beliefs and feelings, whatever 
they may be ; but tell them also that it 
intends to have its orders obeyed, and that 
any suspicion of conspiracy, still more 
rebellion, will be instantly put down." 

The group of unkempt creatures went off 
with sweeping salaams, and then the Sirdar 
dismissed his officers also. 

" Bear in mind," he said, " that you are 
the recognised agents of a just and merciful 
Government, and whatever your personal 
opinions may be of these Arabs and their 
superstitions, please understand that you are 
to give no anti-Islamic colour to your British 
feelings. At the same time remember that 
we have worked for the redemption of the 
Soudan from a state of savagery, and we can- 
not allow it to be turned back to barbarism 
in the name of religion." 

Both the Ulema and the other British 
officials being gone, the Sirdar was alone with 
his Inspector-General. 

"Well?" he said. 

" Well ? " repeated the Inspector-General, 
biting the ends of his close-cropped mous- 
tache. "What more did you expect, sir? 
Naturally the man's own people were not 
going to give him away. They nearly did so, 
though. You heard what old Zewar said ? " 

" Tut ! I take no account of that," said 
the Sirdar. " The brothers of Christ Himself 
would have put Him down, too — locked Him 
up in an asylum, I dare say." 

"That's exactly what I would do with 
Ishmael Ameer, anyway," said the Inspector- 
General. "Of course, he performs no 
miracles, and is attended by no angels. His 
removal to Haifa, and his inability to free 
himself from a Government jail, would soon 
dispel the belief in his supernatural agencies." 

" But how can we do it ? Under what 
pretext? We can't imprison a man for 

Digitized by GoOqU 

preaching the second coming of Christ. If 
we did our jails would be pretty full at home, 
I'm thinking." 

The Inspector-General laughed. " Your 
old error, dear Sirdar/ You can't apply the 
same principles to East and West." 

" And your old Parliamentary cant, dear 
friend ! I'm sick to death of it." 

There was a moment of strained silence, 
and then the Inspector-General said : — 

" Ah, well, I know these holy men, with 
their fake inspirations and their so-called 
heavenly messages. They develop by degrees, 
sir. This one has begun by proclaiming the 
advent of the Lord Jesus, and he will end 
by hoisting a flag and claiming to be the 
Lord Jesus himself." 

" When he does that, Colonel, we'll consider 
our position afresh. Meantime it may do us 
no mischief to remember that, if the family 
of Jesus could have dealt with the founder of 
our own religion as you would deal with this 
olive-faced Arab, there would probably be no 
Christianity in the world to-day." 

The Inspector - General shrugged his 
shoulders and rose to go. 

" Good night, sir." 

" Good night, Colonel," said the Sirdar, and 
then he sat down to draft a despatch to the 
Consul-General : — 

" Nothing to report since the marriage, 
betrothal, or whatever it was, of the * Rani ' 
to the man in question. Undoubtedly he is 
laying a strong hold on the imagination of 
the natives and acquiring the allegiance of 
large bodies of workers ; but I cannot connect 
him with any conspiracy to persuade people 
not to pay taxes or with any organized scheme 
that is frankly hostile to the continuance of 
British rule. 

" Will continue to watch him, but find 
myself at fearful odds owing to difference of 
faith. It is one of the disadvantages of 
Christian Governments among people of alien 
race and religion that methods of revolt are 
not always visible to the naked eye, and God 
knows what is going on in the sealed chambers 
of the mosque. 

" That only shows the danger of curtailing 
the liberty of the vernacular Press, whatever 
the violence of its sporadic and muddled 
anarchy. Leave the Press alone, I say. 
Instead of chloroforming it into silence give 
it a tonic if need be, or you drive your 
trouble underground. Such is the common 
sense and practical wisdom of how to deal 
with sedition in a Mohammedan country, let 
some of the logger-headed dunces who write 
leading articles in England say what they will. 
Original from 




" If this man should develop supernatural 
pretensions I shall know what to do. And 
without that, whether he claim divine inspira- 
tion or not, if his people should come to 
regard him as divine, the very name and idea 
of his divinity may become a danger and I 
suppose I shall have to put him under arrest." 

Then remembering that he was addressing 
not only the Consul-General but the friend, 
the Sirdar wrote: "'Art thou a king?' 
Strange that the question of Pontius Pilate is 
precisely what we may find in our own mouths 
soon ! And stranger still, almost ludicrous, 
even farcical and hideously ironical, that 
though tor two thousand years Christendom 
has been spitting on the pusillanimity of the 
old pagan, the representative of a Christian 
Empire will have to do precisely what he did. 

" Short of Pilate's situation, though, I see 
no right to take this man, so I am not taking 
him. Sorry to tell you so, but I cannot 
help it 

"Our love from both to both. Trust 
Janet is feeling better. No news of our poor 
boy, I suppose?" 

"Our boy" had for thirty years been 
another name for Gordon. 


Grave as was the gathering in the Sirdar's 
Palace at Khartoum, there was a still graver 
gathering that day in the British Agency at 
Cairo — the gathering of the wings of Death. 

Lady Nuneham was nearing her end. Since 
Gordon's disgrace and disappearance she had 
been visibly fading away under a burden too 
heavy for her to bear. 

The Consul-General had been trying hard 
to shut his eyes to this fact. More than ever 
before he had immersed himself in his work, 
being plainly impelled to fresh effort by hatred 
of the man who had robbed him of his son. 

Through the Soudan Intelligence Depart- 
ment in Cairo he had watched Ishmael's move- 
ments in Khartoum, expecting him to develop 
the traits of the Mahdi and thus throw himself 
into the hands of the Sirdar. 

It was a deep disappointment to the 
Consul-General that this did not occur. The 
same report came to him again and again. 
The man was doing nothing to justify his 
arrest. Although surrounded by fanatical 
folk, whose minds were easily inflamed, he 
was not trying to upset governors or giving 
divine sanction for the removal of officials. 

But meantime some mischief was mani- 
festly at work all over the country. From 
day to day inspectors had been coming in to 
say that the people were not paying their 


taxes. Convinced that this was the result of 
conspiracy, the Consul-General had shown no 

"Sell them up," he had said, and the 
inspectors, taking their cue from his own 
spirit, but exceeding his orders, had done his 
work without remorse. 

Week by week the trouble had deepened, 
and when disturbances had been threatened 
he had asked the British Army of Occupa- 
tion, meaning no violence, to go out into 
the country and show the people England's 

Then grumblings had come down on him 
from the representatives of foreign nations. 
If the people were so discontented with 
British rule that they were refusing to pay 
their taxes there would be a deficit in the 
Egyptian Treasury. How then were Egypt's 
creditors to be paid ? 

"Time enough to cross the bridge when 
you come to it, gentlemen," said the Consul- 
General, in his stinging tone, and with a curl 
of his iron lip. 

If the worst came to the worst England 
would pay, but England should not be asked 
to do so, because Egypt must meet the cost 
of her own government. Hence, more dis- 
training and some inevitable violence in sup- 
pressing the riots that resulted on evictions. 

Finally came a hubbub in Parliament, with 
the customary "Christian" prattlers prating 
again. Fools ! They did not know what a 
subtle and secret conspiracy he had to deal 
with while they were crying out against his 
means of killing it. 

He must kill it ! This form of passive 
resistance, this attack on the Treasury, was 
the deadliest blow that had ever yet been 
aimed at England's power in Egypt. 

But he must not let Europe see it ! He 
must make believe that nothing was happen- 
ing to occasion the least alarm. Therefore, 
to drown the cries of the people who were 
suffering— not because they were poor and 
could not pay, but because they were perverse 
and would not — he must organize some 
immense demonstration. 

Thus came to the Consul-General the 
scheme of the combined festival of the King's 

Birthday and the th anniversary of the 

British occupation of Egypt. It would do 
good to foreign Powers, for it would make 
them feel that, not for the first time, England 
had been the torch-bearer of light in a dark 
country. It would do good to the Egyptians, 
too, for it would force their youngsters (born 
since Tel-el- Kebir) to realize the strength of 
England's arm. 

Original from 




Thus had the Consul-General occupied 
himself while his wife had faded away. But 
at length he had been compelled to see that 
the end was near, and towards the close of 
every day he had gone to her room and sat 
almost in silence, with bowed head, in the 
chair by her side. 

The great man who for forty years had 
been the virtual ruler of millions had no 
wisdom that told him what to say to a 
dying woman ; but at last, seeing that her 
pallor had become whiteness, and that she 
was sinking rapidly and hungering for the 
consolations of her religion, he asked her if 
she would like to take the sacrament 

" It is just what I wish, dear," she 
answered, with the nervous smile of one 
who had been afraid to ask. 

At heart the Consul-General had been an 
Agnostic all his life, looking upon religion as 
no better than a civilizing superstition ; but 
all the same he went downstairs and sent 
one of his secretaries for the chaplain of 
St. Mary's — the English church. 

The moment he had gone out of the door 
Fatimah, under the direction of the dying 
woman, began to prepare the bedroom for 
the reception of the clergyman by laying a 
side-table with a fair white cloth, a large 
Prayer Book, and two silver candlesticks 
containing new candles. 

While the Egyptian nurse did this the old 
lady looked on with her deep, slow, weary 
eyes, and talked in whispers, as if the wings 
of the august Presence that was soon to come 
were already rustling in the room. When all 
was done she looked very happy. 

" Everything is nice and comfortable now," 
she said, as she lay back to wait for the 

But even then she could not help thinking 
the one thought that made a tug at her 
resignation. It was about Gordon. 

" I am quite ready to die, Fatimah," she 
said, " but I should have loved to see my 
dear Gordon once more." 

This was what she had been waiting for, 
praying for, eating her heart and her life out 

14 Only to see and kiss my boy ! It would 
have been so easy to go then." 

Fatimah, who was snuffling audibly, as she 
straightened the eiderdown coverlet over the 
bed, began to hint that if her "sweet eyes" 
could not see her son she could send him a 

" Perhaps I lfnow somebody who could 
see it reaches him, too," said Fatimah, in a 
husky whisper. 

by Google 

The old lady understood her instantly. 

" You mean Hafiz ! I always thought as 
much. Bring me my writing-case, quick ! " 

The writing-case was brought and laid 
open before her, and she made some effort 
to write a letter, but the power of life was 
low in her, and after a moment the shaking 
pen dropped from her fingers. 

" Ma'aieyshy my lady!" said Fatimah, 
soothingly. "Tell me what you wish to say. 
I will remember everything." 

Then the dying mother sent a few touch- 
ing words as her last message to her beloved 

" Wait ! Let me think. My head is a 
little , . . just a little . . . Yes, this 
is what I wish to say, Fatimah. Tell 
my boy that my last thoughts were about 
him. Though I am sorry he took the side 
of the false Prophet, say I am certain he did 
what he thought was right. Be sure you tell 
him I die happy, because I know I shall see 
him again. If I am never to see him in this 
world I will do so in the world to come. 
Say I shall be waiting for him there. And 
tell him it will not seem long." 

" Could you sign your name for him, my 
heart?" said Fatimah, in her husky voice. 

"Yes, oh, yes, easily," said the old lady, 
and then with an awful effort she wrote : — 

" Your ever-loving mother." 

At that moment Ibrahim in his green 
caftan, carrying a small black bag, brought 
the English chaplain into the room. 

" Peace be to this house," said the clergy- 
man, using the words of his Church ritual, 
and the Egyptian nurse, thinking it was an 
Eastern salutation, answered, " Peace ! " 

The chaplain went into the " boys' room " 
to put on his surplice, and when he came 
out of it robed in white, and began to light 
the candles and prepare the vessels which he 
placed on the side-table, the old lady was 
talking to Fatimah in nervous whispers. 

" His lordship ? " " Yes ! " " Do you 
think, my lady . . ." 

She wanted the Consul - General to be 
present and was half afraid to send for him ; 
but just at that instant the door opened 
again, and her pale, spiritual face lit up with 
a smile as she saw her husband come into 
the room. 

The clergyman was now ready to begin, 
and the old lady looked timidly across the 
bed at the Consul-General, as if there were 
something she wished to ask and dare not. 

" Yes, I will take the sacrament with you, 
Janet," said the old man, and then the old 
lady's face shone like the face of an angel. 




The Consul General took the chair by the 
side of the bed and the chaplain began the 
service : — 

" 'Almighty, ever-living God, Maker of man- 
kind, Who dost correct those whom Thou 
dost love . . . * " 

All the time the triumphant words rever- 

later the chaplain, after a whispered word 
from the dying woman, began to sing — 
Sun of my soul, Thou Saviour dear, 
\l is not night, if Thou W near , . . 

At the second bar the old lady joined him 
in her breaking, cracking voice, and then 
the Consul -General too, albeit his throat 


berated through the room the dying woman 
was praying fervently, her lips moving to her 
unspoken words and her eyes shining as if 
the Lord of Life she had always loved was 
with her now and she wns giving herself to 
Him — her soul, her all. 

The Consul-General was praying, too— 
praying for the first time to the God he did 
not know and had never looked to : — 

14 If Thou art God, let her die in peace. 
It is all I ask— all I wish." 

Thus the two old people took the sacra- 
ment together, and when the Communion 
Service came to a close the old lady looked 
again at the Consul-General and asked, with 
a little confusion, if they might sing a 

The old man bent his headland a moment 

was choking him, forced himself to sing 

with her -- 

When the soft (lews of kindly sleep 
My wenried eyelids jj«?nl1y steep . . - 

It was as much as the Consul-General 
could do to sing of a faith he did not feel, 
but he felt tenderly to it for his wife's sake 
now, and with u great effort he went on with 
her to the end. 

If some poc>r wandering child of ihine 
Have spurred to-day the voice divine * « * 

The light of another world was in the 
old lady's eyes when all was over, and she 
seemed to lie already half wav to heaven* 

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Ai.i, the same tht-re was a sweet humanity 
left in her, too, ami when the chaplain was 

Original from 



gone and the side-table had been cleared, 
and she was left alone with her old husband, 
there came little gleams of the woman who 
wanted to be loved to the last. 

" How are you now ? " he asked. 

" Better, so much better," she said, smiling 
upon him, and caressing with her wrinkled 
hand the other wrinkled hand that lay on the 
eiderdown quilt. 

The great Consul-General, sitting on the 
chair by the side of the bed, felt as helpless 
as before, as ignorant as ever of what 
millions of simple people know — how to talk 
to those they love when the wings of death are 
hovering over them. But the sweet old lady, 
with the wisdom and the courage which God 
gives to His own on the verge of eternity, 
began to speak in a lively and natural voice 
of the end that was coming, and what was to 
follow it. 

He was not to allow any of his arrange- 
ments to be interfered with, and, above all, 
the festivities appointed for the King's 
birthday were not to be disturbed. 

" They must be necessary, or you would 
not have them, especially now," she said. 
"And I shall not be happy if I know 
that on my account they are not coming 

And then, with the sweet childishness 
which the feebleness of illness brings, she 
talked of the last King's birthday, and of 
the ball they had given in honour of it. 

That had been in their own house, and 
the dancing had been in the drawing-room, 
and the Consul-General had told Ibrahim to 
set the big green arm-chair for her in the 
alcove, and sitting there she had seen every- 
thing. What a spectacle ! Such gorgeous 
uniforms ! Such glittering orders ! Such 
beautiful toilettes ! Ministers Plenipotentiary, 
Egyptian Ministers, ladies, soldiers ! 

The old lady's pale face filled with light 
as she thought of all this, but the Consul- 
General dropped his head, for he knew well 
what was coming next. 

"And, John, don't you remember? Gordon 
was there that night, and Helena— dear 
Helena ! How lovely they looked ! Among 
all those lovely people, dear ... He was 
wearing every one of his medals that night, 
you know. So tall, so brave looking, a 
soldier every inch of him, and such a perfect 
English gentleman ! Was there ever anything 
in the world so beautiful ? And Helena, too ! 
She wore a silver silk, and a kind of coif on 
her beautiful black hair. Oh, she was the 
loveliest thing in all the room, 1 thought ! 
And when they led the cotillon — don't you 

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remember they led the cotillon, dear? — I 
could have cried, I was so proud of them." 

The Consul-General continued to sit with 
his head down, listening to the old lady and 
saying nothing, yet seeing the scene as she 
depicted it and feeling again the tingling 
pride which he, too, had felt but permitted 
nobody that night to know. 

After a moment the beaming face on the 
bed became clouded over as if that memory 
had brought other memories less easy to 
bear — dreams of happy days to come, of 
honours and of children. 

41 Ah, well, God knows best," she said in 
a tremulous voice, releasing the Consul- 
General's hand and ceasing to speak. 

The old man felt as if he would have 
to hurry out of the room without uttering 
another word, but as well as he could he 
controlled himself and said : — 

"You are agitating yourself, Janet. You 
must lie quiet now." 

"Yes, I must lie quiet now, and think 
of ... of other things," she answered. 

He was stepping away when she called on 
him to turn her on her right side, for that 
was how she always slept, and upon the 
Egyptian nurse coming hurrying up to help, 
she said : — 

44 No, no, not you, Fatimah — his lordship." 

Then the Consul-General put his arms 
about her— feeling how thin and wasted she 
was and how little of her was left to die — 
and turning her gently round he laid her 
back on the pillow which Fatimah had in 
the meantime shaken out. 

While he did so her dim eyes brightened 
again, and stretching her white hands out of 
her silk nightdress she clasped them about 
his neck with the last tender effort of the 
woman who wanted to be fondled to the end. 

The strain of talking had been too much 
for her, and after a few minutes she sank into 
a restless doze, in which the perspiration 
broke out on her forehead and her face 
acquired an expression of pain, for sleep 
knows no pretences. But at length her 
features became more composed and her 
breathing morr regular, and then the Consul- 
General, who had been standing aside, 
mute with anguish, said in a low tone to 
Fatimah : — 

44 She is sleeping quietly now," and then 
he turned to go. 

Fatimah followed him to the head of the 
stairs, and said, in her husky whisper : — 

44 It will be all over to-night, though — 
you'll see it will." 

For a moment he looked steadfastly into 
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the woman's eyes, and then, without answer- 
ing her, he walked heavily down the stairs. 

Back in the library, he stood for some 
time with his face to the empty fireplace. 
Over the mantelpiece there hung a little 
picture, in a black-and-gilt frame, of a 
bright-faced boy in an Arab fez. It was more 
than he could do to look at that portrait now, 
so he took it off its brass nail and laid it 
face-down on the marble mantelshelf. 

Just at that moment one of his secretaries 
brought in a despatch. It was the despatch 
from the Sird&r, sent in cipher but now 
written out at length. The Consul-General 
read it without any apparent emotion and put 
it aside without a word. 

The hours passed slowly; the night was 
very long ; the old man did not go to bed. 
Not for the first time he was asking himself 
searching questions about the mystery of life 
and death, but the great enigma was still 
baffling him. Could it be possible that 
while he had occupied himself with the mere 
shows and semblance of things, calling them 
by great names, Civilization and Progress, 
that simple soul upstairs had been grasping 
the eternal realities ? 

There were questions that cut deeper even 
than that, and now they faced him one by 
one. Was it true that he had married merely 
in the hope of having someone to carry on 
his name, and thus fulfil the aspirations of 
his pride ? Had he for nearly forty years 
locked his heart away from the woman who 
had been starving for his love, and was it 
only by the loss of the son who was to have 
been the crown of his life that they were 
brought together in the end ? 

Thus the hoofs of the dark hours beat 
heavily on the great Proconsul's brain, and 
in the awful light that came to him from an 
open grave the triumphs of the life behind 
him looked poor and small. 

But, meantime, the palpitating air of the 
room upstairs was full of a different spirit. 
The old lady had apparently awakened from 
her restless sleep, for she had opened her 
eyes and was talking in a bright and happy 
voice. Her cheeks were tinged with the 
glow of health, and her whole face was filled 
with light. 

" I knew I should see them," she said. 

" See whom, my heart ? " asked Fatimah, 
but, without answering her, the old lady, with 
the same rapturous expression, went on 

" I knew I should, and I have ! I have 
seen both of them ! " 

" Whom have you seen, my lady ? " asked 

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Fatimah again, but once more the dying 
woman paid no heed to her. 

4< I saw them as plainly as I see you now, 
dear. It was in a place I did not know. 
The sun was so hot, and the room was so 
close. There was a rush roof and divans all 
round the walls. But Gordon and Helena 
were there together, sitting at opposite sides 
of a table and holding each other's hands." 

" Allah ! Allah ! " muttered Fatimah, with 
upraised hands. 

The old lady seemed to hear her, for an 
indulgent smile passed over her radiant 
face, and she said in a tone of tender 
remonstrance : — 

" Don't be foolish, Fatimah ! Of course 
I saw him. The Lord said I should, and He 
never breaks His promises. 'Help me, O 
God, for Christ's sake,' I said. ' Shall I see 
my dear son again ? O God, give me a 
sign.' And He did ! Yes, it was in the 
middle of the night. ' Janet/ said a voice, 
and I was not afraid. ' Be patient, Janet. 
You shall see your dear boy before you 

Her face was full of happy visions. The 
life of this world seemed to be no longer 
there. A kind of life from the other world 
appeared to reanimate the sinking woman. 
The near approach of eternity illumined her 
whole being with a supernatural light. She 
was dying in a flood of joy. 

" Oh, how good the Lord is ! It is so 
easy to go now ! . . . John, you must not 
think I suffer any longer, because' I don't 
I have no pain now, dear— none whatever." 

Then she clasped her wasted hands 
together in the attitude of prayer, and said 
in a rustling whisper : — 

" To-night, Lord Jesus ! Let it be to- 
night ! " 

After that her rapturous voice died down 
and her ecstatic eyes gently closed, but an 
ineffable smile continued to play on her 
faintly-tinted face, as if she were looking on 
the wings that were waiting to bear her away. 

The doctor came in at that moment, and 
was told what had occurred. 

" Delirium, of course," he said. A change 
had come ; the crisis was approaching. If 
the same thing happened at the supreme 
moment the patient was not to be contra- 
dicted ; her delusion was to be indulged. 

It did not happen. 

In the early hours of the morning the 
Consul-General was called upstairs. There 
was a deep silence in the bedroom, as if the 
air had suddenly become empty and void. 
The day was breaking, and through the 




windows that looked over to the Nile the 
white sails of a line of boats that were gliding 
by seemed like the passing of angels' wings. 
Sparrows were twittering in the eaves, and 
through the windows to the east the first 
streamers of the sunrise were rising in the sky. 

The Consul-General approached the bed 
and looked down at the pallid face on the 
pillow. He wanted to stoop and kiss it, but 
he felt as if it would be a profanation to do 
so now. His own face was full of suffering, 
for the sealed chambers of his iron soul had 
been broken open at last. 

With his hands clasped behind his back 
he stood for some minutes quite motionless. 
Then, laying one hand on the brass head-rail 
of the bed, he leaned over his dead wife and 
spoke to her as if she could hear. 

11 Forgive me, Janet ! Forgive me," he said 
in a low voice that was like a sob. 

Did she hear him ? Who can say she did 
not ? Was it only a ray from the sunrise that 
made the Egyptian woman think that over 
the dead face of the careworn and weary one, 
whose sweet soul was even then winging its 
way to heaven, there passed the light of a 
loving smile? 

Within three days the softening effects on 
the Consul-General of Lady Nuneham's death 
were lost. Out of his very bereavement and 
the sense of being left friendless and alone 
he became a harder and severer man than 
before. His secretaries were more than 
ever afraid of him, and his servants trembled 
as they entered his room. 

It heightened his anger against Gordon to 
believe that by his conduct he had hastened 
his mother's end. In his absolute self- 
abasement there were moments when he 
would have found it easier to forgive Gordon 
if he had been a prodigal, a wastrel, prompted 
to do what he had done by the grossest 
selfishness ; but deep down in some obscure 
depths of the father's heart the worst suffering 
came of the certainty that his son had been 
moved by that tragic earnestness which 
belongs only to the greatest and noblest souls. 

Still more hardening and embittering to 
the Consul - General than the memory of 
Gordon was the thought of Ishmael. It 
intensified his anger against the Egyptian 
to feel that having first by his " visionary 
mummery, " by his " manoeuvring and 
quackery," robbed him of his son, he had 
now, by direct consequence, robbed him of 
his wife also. 

All the Consul - General's bull - necked 

VoL xxxviii. — <J. 

strength, all his force of soul, was roused to 
fury when he thought of that. He was old 
and tired and he needed rest, but before he 
permitted himself to think of retirement he 
must crush Ishmael Ameer. 

Not that he allowed himself to recognise 
his vindictiveness. Shutting his eyes to his 
personal motive, he believed he was thinking 
of England only. Ishmael was the head- 
centre of an anarchical conspiracy which was 
using secret and stealthy weapons that were 
more deadly than bombs ; therefore Ishmael 
must be put down, he must be trampled into 
theearth,and his movement must bedestroyed. 

But how? 

Within a few hours after Lady Nuneham's 
funeral the Grand Cadi came by night and, 
with many vague accusations against "the 
Arab innovator," repeated his former 
warning : — 

" I tell you again, O Excellency, if you 
permit that man to go on, it will be death to 
the rule of England in Egypt." 

" Then prove what you say — prove it, prove 
it ! " cried the Consul-General, raising his 
impatient voice. 

But the suave old Moslem judge either 
could not or would not do so. Indeed, 
being a Turkish official, accustomed to quite 
different procedure, he was at a loss to 
understand why the Consul-General wanted 

" Arrest the offender first, and you'll find 
evidence enough afterwards," he said. 

An English statesman could not act on 
lines like those, , so the Consul - General 
turned back to the despatches of the Sirdar. 
The last of them — the one received during 
the dark hours preceding his wife's death — 
contained significant passages : — 

11 If this man should develop supernatural 
pretensions I shall know what to do." 

Ha ! There was hope in that ! The 
charlatan element in Ishmael Ameer might 
carry him far if only the temptation of 
popular idolatry were strong enough. 

Once let a man deceive himself with the 
idea that he was divine — nay, once let his 
followers delude themselves with the notion 
of his divinity, and a civilized Government 
would be bound to make short work of him. 
Whosoever and whatsoever he might be, that 
man must die ! 

A sudden cloud passed over the face of 
the Consul-General as he glanced again at 
the Sirdar's despatch arid saw its references 
to Christ. 

" How senseless everybody is becoming in 

tbis ii#ffliGAN 




Pontius Pilate ! Pshaw ! When would 
religious hypocrisy open its eyes and see 
that, according to all the laws of civilized 
States, the Roman Governor had done right? 
Jesus claimed to be divine, His people 
were ready to recognise Him as King; and 
whether His kingdom was of this world or 
another, what did it matter? If His preten 
sions had been permitted they would have 
led to wild, chaotic, shapeless anarchy. 
Therefore Pilate crucified Jesus, and, scorned 
though he had been through all the ages, 
he had done no more than any so-called 
"Christian" governor would be compelled to 
do to-day. 

"Jesus of Nazareth, the King of the Jews,'* 
Why would not people understand that these 
words were written not in derision but in 
self-defence ? There could have been only 
one authority in Palestine then, and there 
could be only one authority in Egypt now. 

"If this visionary mummer, with his empty 
quackeries, should develop the idea that he 
is divine, or yet the messenger of divinity, 1 
will hang him like a dog ! M thought the 

Five days after the death of Lady Nuneham 
the Consul General was reading at his break- 
fast the last copy of the Times to arrive in 

Cairo. It contained an anticipatory announce 
merit of a forthcoming Mansion House 
banquet in honour of the King's birthday* 
The Foreign Minister was expected to speak 
on the " unrest in the East, with special 
reference to the affair of El Azhar." 

The Consul General's face frowned darkly, 
and he began to picture the scene as it would 
occur. The gilded hall, the crowd of dis- 
tinguished persons eating in public, the 
mixed odours of many dishes, the pop of 
champagne corks, the smoke of cigars, the 
buzz of chatter like the gobbling of geese on 
a green, and then the Minister, with his hand 
on his heart, uttering timorous apologies for 
his Proconsul's policy, and pouring out 
pompous platitudes as if he had newly 
discovered the decalogue. 

The Consul General's gorge rose at the 
thought Oh, when would these people, who 
stayed comfortably at home and lived by the 
votes of the factory hands of Lancashire and 
Yorkshire and hungered for the shouts of 
the mob, understand the position of men 
like himself who, in foreign lands among 
alien races, encompassed by secret con- 
spiracies, were spending their strength in 
holding high the banner of Empire? 

" Having chosen a good man, why can't 
they leave him alone ? fi thought the Consul- 




And then, his personal feelings getting the 
better of his patriotism, he almost wished 
that the charlatan dement In Ishmael Ameer 
might develop speedily ; that he might draw 
off the allegiance of the native soldiers in 
the Soudan and break out, like the Mahdi, 
into open rebellion. That would bring the 
Secretary of State to his senses, make him 
realize a real danger, and see in the everlast- 
ing "affair of El Azhar," if not light, then 

The door of the breakfast room opened 
and Ibrahim entered* 

" Well, what is it ?" demanded the Consul- 
Genera 1, with a frown. 

Ibrahim answered in some confusion that 
a small boy was in the hall asking to see the 
English lord. He said he brought an urgent 
message, but would not tell what it was or 
where it came from. Had been there three 
times before, slept last night on the ground 
outside the gate, and could not be driven 
away— would his lordship see the lad ? 

" What is his race ? Egyptian ? " 

11 Nubian, my lord/' 

" Ever seen 
the boy be- 

"No . . . 
yes ... that 
is to say , , , 
well, now that 
your lordship 
mentions it, I 
think . ■ . yes, 
I think he 
came here once 
with Miss 
Hel ... I 
mean General 
Graves's daugh- 

11 Bring him 
tip immedi- 
ately," said the 
Consul -General. 

At the next 
moment a 
black boy step- 
ped boldly into 
the room. It 
was Mos ie . 
His clothes 
were dirty, and 
his pudgy face 
wa s 1 i ke a 
block of dark 
soap splashed 
with stale lather, 

but his eyes were clear and alert and his 
manner was eager, 

u Well, my boy t what do you want ? * 
asked the Consul-General 

Mosie looked fearlessly up into the stern 
face with its iron jaw, and tipped his black 
thumb over his shoulder to where Ibrahim, 
in his gorgeous green caftan^ stood timidly 
behind him. 

At a sign from the Con sul General the 
Egyptian servant left the room, and then, 
quick as light, Mosie slipped off his sandal , 
ripped optn its inner sole, and plucked out 
a letter stained with grease, 

It was the letter which Helena had written 
in Khartoum. 

The Consul - General read it rapidly, 
with an eagerness which even he could 
not conceal So great, indeed, was his 
excitement that he did not see that 
a second paper (IshmaePs letter to the 
Sheikh el Islam) had fallen to the floor 
until Mosie picked it up and held it out 
to him. 

"Good boy," said the Consul-General, 

The cloud had 
passed, and his 
face bore an ex- 
pression of joy. 
the dim pur- 
port of Helena's 
hasty letter* 
the Consu l- 
General saw 
that what he 
had predicted 
and half hoped 
for was already 
coming to pass. 
It was to be 
open conspiracy 
now, not pas- 
sive conspiracy 
any longer. 
The man Ish- 
mael was fall- 
ing a victim to 
the most fatal 
of all mental 
maladies, The 
Mahdist delu- 
sion was taking 
possession of 
him and he was 
throwing himself 
into the Govern- 
ment's hands. 





Hurriedly ringing his bell, the Consul- 
General committed Mosie to Ibrahim's care, 
whereupon the small black boy in his soiled 
clothes, with his dirty face and hands, strutted 
out of the room in front of the Egyptian 
servant, looking as proud as a peacock and 
feeling like sixteen feet tall. Then the 
Consul-General called for one of his sec- 
retaries, and sent him for the Commandant 
of Police. 

The Commandant came in hot haste. 
He was a big and rather corpulent English- 
man, wearing a blue-braided uniform and a 
fez — naturally a blusterous person with his 
own people, but as soft- voiced as a woman 
and as obsequious as a slave before his 

" Draw up your chair, Commandant — closer 
— now listen," said the Consul-General. 

And then in a low tone he repeated what 
he had already learned from Helena's letter, 
and added what he had instantly divined 
from it — that Ishmael Ameer was to return to 
Cairo ;' that he was to come back in the 
disguise of a Bedouin sheikh ; that his 
object was to draw off the allegiance of the 
Egyptian Army in order that a vast horde of 
his followers might take possession of the 
city; that this was to be done during the 
period of the forthcoming festivities, while 
the British Army were still in the provinces, 
and that the conspiracy was to reach its 
treacherous climax on the night of the King's 

The Commandant listened with a gloomy 
face, and, looking timidly into the flashing 
eyes before him, he asked if His Excellency 
could rely on the source of his information. 

" Absolutely ! Infallibly ! " said the Consul- 

" Then," said the Commandant, nervously, 
"I presume the festivities must be post- 
poned ? " 

"Certainly not, sir." 

" Or perhaps your Excellency intends to 
have the British Army called back to 

" Not that either." 

" At least you will arrest the ' Bedouin.' " 

" Not yet, at all events." 

The policy to be pursued was to be some- 
thing quite different. 

Everything was to go on as usual. Sports, 
golf, cricket, croquet, tennis tournaments, 
polo matches, race meetings, automobile 
meetings, " all the usual fooleries and frivoli- 
ties" — with crowds of sightseers, men in 
flannels and ladies in beautiful toilettes— were 
to be encouraged to proceed. The police 

bands were to play in the public gardens, the 
squares, the streets, everywhere. 

" Say nothing to anybody. Give no sign 
of any kind. Let the conspiracy go on as if 
we knew nothing about it. But . . ." 

"Yes, my lord? Yes?" 

"Keep an eye on the 'Bedouin.' Let 
every train that arrives at the railway-station 
and every boat that comes down the river 
be watched. As soon as you have spotted 
your man, see where he goes to. He may 
be a fanatical fool, miscounting his 'divine' 
influence with the native soldier, but he 
cannot be working alone. Therefore, find 
out who visits him, learn all their movements, 
let their plans come to a head, and, when 
the proper time arrives, in one hour, at one 
blow, we will crush their conspiracy and clap 
our hands upon the whole of them." 

" Splendid ! An inspiration, my lord ! " 

" I've always said it would some day be 
necessary to forge a special weapon to meet 
special needs, and the time has come to forge 
it. Meantime, undertake nothing hurriedly. 
Make no mistakes, and see that your men 
make none." 

" Certainly, my lord." 

" Investigate every detail for yourself, and 
above all hold your tongue and guard your 
information with inviolable secrecy." 

" Surely, my lord." 

"You can go now. I'm busy. Good 
morning ! " 

"Wonderful man!" thought the Com- 
mandant, as he w T ent out at the porch. 
" Seems to have taken a new lease of life ! 
Wonderful ! " 

The Consul-General spent the whole of 
that day in thinking out his scheme for a 
" special weapon," and when night came and 
he went upstairs— through the great echoing 
house that was like the bureau of a depart- 
ment of State now, being so empty and so 
cheerless, and past the dark and silent room 
whereof the door was always closed — he felt 
conscious of a firmer and lighter step than he 
had known for years. 

Fatimah was in his bedroom, for she had 
constituted herself his own nurse since his 
wife's death. She was nailing up on the wall 
the picture of the little boy in the Arab fez, 
and, having her own theory about why 
he had taken it down in the library, she 
said : — 

" There ! It will be company for your 
lordship, and nobody will ask questions 
about it here." 

When Fatimah had gone, the Consul- 
General coulBriomaltftrcnihink of Gordon. 




He always thought of him at that hour of 
the night, and the picture of his son that 
rose in his mind's eye was always the same. 
It was a picture of Gordon's deadly white 
face and trembling lower lip as he stood bolt 
upright while his medals were being torn 
from his breast, and then said, in that 
voice which his father could never forget, 
"General, the time may come when it will 
be even more painful to you to remember all 
this than it has been to me to bear it." 

Oh, that Gordon could be here now and 
see for himself what a sorry charlatan, what 
a self-deceived quack and conspirator, was 
the man in whose defence he had allowed 
his own valuable life to rush down to a 
confused welter of wreck and ruin ! 

As the Consul-General got into bed he 
was thinking of Helena. What a glorious, 
courageous, resourceful woman she was ! It 
carried his mind back to Biblical days to 
find anything equal to her daring and her 
success. But what was the price she had 
paid for them ? He remembered something 
the Sirdar had said of "a marriage, a sort of 
betrothal," and then he recalled the words 
of her own first letter : " I know exactly 
how far I intend to go and I shall go no 
farther. I also know exactly what I intend 
to do, and I shall do it without fear or 

What had happened in the Soudan ? 
What was happening there now ? In what 
battle-whirlwind had that splendid girl's 
magnificent victory been won ? 


Meantime Helena in Khartoum was feeling 
like a miserable traitress. 

She had condemned an innocent man to 
death ! Ishmael had not killed her father, 
yet she had taken such steps that the 
moment he entered Cairo he would be 
walking to his doom ! 

One after another sweet and cruel 
memories crowded upon her, and in the 
light of the awful truth as Gordon had 
revealed it she began to see Ishmael with 
quite different eyes. All she had hitherto 
thought evil in his character now looked like 
good ; what she had taken for hypocrisy 
was sincerity ; what she had supposed to he 
subtlety was simplicity. His real nature was 
a rebuke to every one of her preconceived 
ideas. The thought of his tenderness, his 
modesty, his devotion, and even the un- 
selfishness which had led to their betrothal 
cut her to the quick. Yet she had doomed 
him to destruction. The letter she had 

written to the Consul-General was his death- 

That night she could fix her mind on 
nothing except the horror of her position, 
but next morning she set herself to think out 
schemes for stopping the consequences of 
her own act. 

The black boy was gone ; it was not 
possible to overtake him ; there was no other 
train to Egypt for four days, but there was 
the telegraph — she could make use of that. 

"I'll telegraph to the Consul-General to 
pay no attention to my letter," she thought. 

Useless ! The Consul-General would ask 
himself searching questions, and take his 
precautions just the same. 

" I'll telegraph that my letter is a forgery," 
she thought. 

Madness ! The Consul-General would 
ask himself how, if it was a forgery, she 
could know anything about it. 

" I'll go across to the Sirdar and tell him 
everything, and leave him to act for both of 
us as he thinks best ! " 

Impossible ! How could she explain her 
position to the Sirdar without betraying 
Gordon's identity and thereby leading to his 
arrest ? 

That settled everything. There was no 
escape from the consequences of her conduct, 
no way to put an end to the network of 
dangers by which she had surrounded 
Ishmael. Mosie was now far on his way 
to Cairo; he carried to the Consul-General 
her own letter, but also the original of 
Ishmael's letter to the Chancellor of El 
Azhar. The hideous work was done. 

Two days passed, during which her over- 
excited feelings seemed to paralyze all her 
powers of thought. Then a new idea took 
possession of her, and she set herself to undo 
what she had done with Ishmael himself. 
Little by little, in tremulous tones, and with 
a still deeper sense of duplicity than before, 
she began to express halting doubts of the 
success of their enterprise. 

" I have been thinking about it," she said, 
nervously, "and now I fear . . ." 

"What do you fear, O Rani?" asked 

" I fear," said Helena, trembling visibly, 
"that the moment the Government learn 
from the Sirdar, as they needs must, that 
the great body of your people have left 
Khartoum and are travelling north, they 
will recall the British Army to protect the 
capital, and thus . . ." 

But Ishmael interrupted her with a laugh. 

"If the day of the Redeemer has come," 


4 6 


he said, " will human armies hinder Him ? 

It was useless ! Ishmael was now more 
than ever an enthusiast, a fanatic, a visionary. 
His spiritual ecstasy swept away every 
obstacle and made him blind to every 

Helena felt like a witch who was trying to 
undo the effects of her charm. She could 
not undo them. She could not destroy the 
potency of the spell she herself had raised, 
and the effort to do so put her into a fever of 

Two days more passed like this, and still 
Helena was in the toils of her own actions. 
From time to time she saw Gordon as he sat 
at meals or moved about the house. He did 
not speak to her, and she dropped her head 
in shame as often as they came close 
together. But at length she caught a look in 
his face which seemed to her to say, "Are 
you really going to let an innocent man walk 
into the jaws of death?" 

That brought her wavering mind to a 
quick conclusion. Gordon was waiting for 
her to speak. She must speak ! She must 
confess everything ! She must tell Ishmael 
what she had done, and by what tragic tangle 
of error she had done it. At any cost, no 
matter what, she must put an end to the 
false situation in which she lived, and thus 
redeem herself in Gordon's eyes and in her 

At noon that day, being Friday, Ishmael 
preached in the mosque, delivering a still more 
fervent and passionate message. The king- 
dom of heaven which the Lord Isa had fore- 
told was soon to come ! When it came God 
would lend them legions of angels, if need 
be, to protect the oppressed and to uphold 
the downtrodden ! Therefore, let the children 
of God fear nothing from the Powers and 
Principalities of the world ! Their pilgrimage 
was safe ! No harm could come to them, for, 
however their feet might slip, the arms of the 
Compassionate would bear them up ! 

As Ishmael's ecstasy had increased so had 
the devotion of his people, and when he 
returned home they followed him in a dense 
crowd through the streets, shouting the 
wildest acclamations. 

" Out of the way ! The Master is coming ! 
The Messenger is here ! Allah ! El Ham- 
dullillah ! " 

Helena heard them, but she did not hear 
Ishmael reprove them, as in earlier days he 
had been wont to do. 

She was standing in the salamlik, and the 
noise of the approaching crowd had brought 

crowd ha 

by VjC 

Gordon from his bedroom at the moment 
when Ishmael, surrounded by a group of his 
people, stepped into the house. 

Ishmael was in a state of excitement 
amounting to exaltation, and after holding 
out hands both to Helena and Gordon he 
turned to his followers to dismiss them. 

" Go back now," he said, " and to-night, 
two hours after sunset, let the Ulema and 
the notables come to me that we may decide 
on the details of our pilgrimage." 

" Allah ! El Hamdullillah ! " cried the 

More than ever they were like creatures 
possessed. Hungry and ragged as many of 
them were, the new magnificence that was to 
be given to their lives appeared to be already 
shining in their eyes. 

Helena saw this and her heart was smitten 
with remorse at thought of the cruel con- 
fession she had decided to make. She could 
not make it in sight of the hopes it must 
destroy. But neither could she look into 
Gordon's searching face and remain silent, 
and as soon as the crowd had gone she made 
an effort to speak. 

" Ishmael," she said, trembling all over, 
" there is something I wish to say — if it will 
not displease you." 

" Nothing the Rani can say will displease 
me," said Ishmael. 

He was looking at her with the expression 
of enthusiastic admiration which she had 
seen in his eyes before. It was hard to go on. 

" Your intentions are now known to every- 
body," she said. " You have not hidden 
them from any of your own people. That 
has been very trustful, very noble, but 
still . . ." 

" Still— what, my sister ? " 

11 If somebody . . . should betray your 
scheme to the Government, and . . . and 
the moment you set foot in Cairo . . ." 

Again Ishmael interrupted her with a 

u Impossible !" he said, smiling upon her 
with his bright and joyous eyes. " Islam has 
only one heart, one soul, one mind." 

And then, taking her quivering hand and 
leading her to the door, he pointed to the 
camp outside and said :— 

" Look ! Ten thousand of our poor, un- 
happy people are there. They have come 
to me from the tyrannies of cruel taskmasters 
and been true to me through the temptations 
of hunger and thirst. Some of them are 
from Cairo and are waiting to return home. 
All are the children of Islam and are looking 
for the coming ofqtfftl pxpscted, who brings 





peace and joy. Is there one of them who 
will betray me now ? Not one ! Treachery 
would injure me, but it would hurt the 
betrayer more," 

Then, with the same expression of enthusi- 
astic admiration and in a still tenderer and 
softer voice, he began to laugh and to rally 
her, saying he knew well what was going on 
in his sweet sisters mind— that though her 
brave spirit had devised the plan they had 
adopted, yet now that the time was near for 
carrying it into execution her womanly heart 
was failing her, and affectionate anxiety for 
his own safety was making her afraid, 

"But have no fear at all, 9 ' he said, stand- 

ing behind her and smoothing her check 
with a light touch of his tapering fingers, 
"If this is God's work, will God forget me? 
No ! " 

With a sense of stifling duplicity Helena 
made one more effort and said : — 

u Still, who knows, there may be some- 
one • . . w 

" None, O Rani ! " 

" But don't you know . , , " 

** I don't want to know anything except 
one thing — that God guides and directs me," 

Again he laughed and asked where was 
the farda— the. Bedouin headdress — which 
she had promised to make for his disguise. 




" Get to work at it quick," he said ; " it 
will be wanted soon, my sister." 

And then clapping his hands for the mid- 
day meal he went into his room to prepare 
for it, leaving Gordon and Helena for some 
moments alone together. 

Gordon had been standing aside in the 
torment of a hundred mixed emotions, and 
now he and Helena spoke in whispers. 

" He is determined to go into Cairo," she 

" Quite determined." 

" Oh, is there no way to prevent him ? " 

" None now — unless ..." 

" Unless — what ? " she asked, eagerly. 

"Let us ... let us wait and see," said 
Gordon, and then Abdullah came in to lay 
the table. 

As soon as the midday meal was over 
Gordon escaped to his own room, the room 
he shared with Ishmael, and, throwing himself 
down on the angerib with his hands clasped 
across his face, he tried to think out the 
situation in which he found himself, to gaze 
into the depths of his conscience, and to see 
where he was and what he ought to do. 

So violent was the state of his soul that he 
sat there a long time before he could link 
together his memories of what had happened 
since he arrived in Khartoum. 

"Am I dreaming?" he asked himself again 
and again, as one by one his thoughts rolled 
over him like tempestuous waves. 

The first thing he saw clearly was that 
Ishmael was not now the same man that he 
had seen at Alexandria ; that the anxieties, 
responsibilities, and sufferings he had gone 
through as a religious leader had dissipated 
his strong commonsense ; and that as a 
consequence the caution whereby men guard 
their conduct had gone. 

He also saw that Ishmael's spiritual ecstasy 
had reached a point not far removed from 
madness; that his faith in divine guidance, 
divine guardianship, divine intervention had 
become an absolute obsession. 

Therefore it was hopeless to try to move 
him from his purpose by any appeals on the 
score of danger to himself or to his people. 

" He is determined to go into Cairo," 
thought Gordon, "and into Cairo he will 


The next thing Gordon saw, as he examined 
the situation before him, was that Helena 
was powerless to undo the work which by 
the cruel error of fate she had been led to 
do ; that her act was irrevocable ; that there 

was no calling it back, and that it would go 
from its consequences to the consequences 
of its consequences, 

Helena's face appeared before him, and his 
heart bled for her as he thought of how she 
passed before him — she, who had always 
been so bold and gay — with her once proud 
head bent low. He remembered her former 
strength and self-reliance ; her natural force 
and grace ; her fearless daring, and that dash 
of devilry which had been for him one of 
her greatest charms ; and then he thought 
of her false position in that house, brought 
there by her own will, held there by her own 
act — a tragic figure of a woman in the meshes 
of her own net. 

" She cannot continue to live like this. 
It is impossible. Yet what can the end 
be?" he asked himself. 

Hours passed like this. His head, under 
his hot hands, burned, and his temples 
throbbed, yet no ray of light emerged from 
the darkness surrounding him. 

But at length the man in him, the soldier 
and the lover, swept down every obstacle, and 
he told himself that he must save Helena 
from the consequences of her own conduct, 
whatever the result might be. 

" I must ! I must ! " he kept on repeating 
as Helena's face rose before him ; and after 
a while this blind resolution brought him at 
one stride to a new idea. 

Ishmael was determined to go into Cairo, 
but there was one way to prevent him doing 
so — that he, Gordon himself, should go 

When he first thought of that his temples 
beat so violently that it seemed as if they 
would burst, and he felt as if he had been 
brought to the very brink of despair. Seeing 
nothing before him but instant arrest the 
moment he entered the city, it seemed to be 
a pitiful end to his long journey across the 
desert, a poor sequel to his fierce struggle 
with himself, and to the mystic hopes with 
which he had buoyed up his heart, that 
immediately after he had reached Khartoum 
he should turn back to his death. 

Work, mission, redemption — all that had 
so recently had a meaning for him, had dis- 
appeared. But his heart rose when he 
remembered that, if he did what he had 
determined to do, the cruel error of fate 
would be broken whereby Ishmael had been 
doomed to die for an offence he did not 

What was the first fact of this cruel situa- 
tion ? That Helena had believed Ishmael to 
be guilty of the death of her father. But 




Ishraael was innocent, whereas he, Gordon, 
was guilty ! Could he allow an innocent 
man to die for his crime ? 

That brought him to the crisis of his 
conscience. It settled everything. Destiny, 
acting under the blind force of a poor girl's 
love for her father, was sending Ishmael to 
his death. But destiny should be defeated ! 
He should pay his own penalty ! Ishmael 
should be snatched from the doom that 
threatened him, and Helena should be 
saved from lifelong remorse. 

" Yes, yes, I must go into Cairo instead," 
he told himself. 

It had grown late by this time, and the 
bedroom had become dark when Abdullah 
knocked at the door and said that the 
sheikhs were in the salamlik and Ishmael 
was asking for Omar. 

Under its roof, thatched with stalks of 
durah, lit by lamps suspended from its 
rafters, the Ulema and notables of Khar- 
toum—the same that visited the Sirdar — had 
gathered in the guest-room soon after sunset, 
and squatting on the divans, covered by 
carpets and cushions, had drunk their coffee 
from small cups and talked in their winding, 
circuitous Eastern way of the business before 
them, and particularly of the White Lady's 
part in it, while they waited for Ishmael, who 
was still at the mosque. 

"Yes," the vivacious old Pasha had 
said, " no matter how great a man may be, 
when he undertakes an enterprise like this 
he should always consult ten of his friends." 

" But great ones are not great in friends," 
said a younger sheikh. " What if he has not 
got ten ? " 

"Then let him consult one friend ten 
times over." 

" Nay, but if he stands so high that he has 
not got even one friend ? " 

" Then," said the old man, with a sly look 
over his shoulder towards the women's side 
of the house, " let him consult his wife, and 
whatever she advises let him do the contrary." 

When Gordon in his Bedouin dress entered 
the guest-room, Ishmael was sitting in the 
midst of his people, and he called to him to 
take the seat by his right side. 

" But where is the Rani ? " he asked, look- 
ing round, whereupon Abdullah answered 
that she was still in her room, and the old 
Pasha hinted that in the emancipation of the 
Eastern woman perhaps women themselves 
would be the chief impediment. 

" I know ! I know ! " said Ishmael. " But, 
all the same, we must turn our backs on the 
madness of a bygone age that woman is 

Digilized by L^OOQle 

inferior to man, and her counsel is not to 
be trusted. Bring her, Abdullah." 

A few minutes afterwards Helena, wearing 
her Indian veil, but with her face uncovered, 
entered the guest - room with downcast 
eyes, followed by the Arab woman and the 

It cut Gordon to the heart to see her look 
of shame and of confusion, but Ishmael saw 
nothing in Helena's manner except maidenly 
modesty under the eyes of so many men, 
and, making a place "for her on his left, he 
began without further delay on the business 
that had brought them together. 

They were about to win a dear victory for 
God, but it was to be a white war, a blood- 
less revolution. The heartless festivities that 
were to be held in honour of the birthday of 
the King who lived across the seas, while 
people m perished in Egypt, were to reach 
their ciimax something more than a month 
hence. Therefore, the great caravan of God's 
children, who were to cross the desert by 
camel and horse and ass, in order that they 
might meet the Expected One when he 
appeared in Cairo, should start within a 
week. But the messenger of God who had 
to prepare the path before them must go by 
train, and he ought to leave Khartoum in 
four days. 

Other preliminaries of the pilgrimage 
there were to arrange, and after the manner 
of their kind the sheikhs talked long and 
leisurely, agreeing finally that Ishmael should 
go first into Cairo in the disguise of a 
Bedouin sheikh to make sure of the success 
of their mission, and that Omar (Gordon) 
should follow him in command of the body 
of the people. 

At length there was silence for a moment, 
and then Ishmael said : — 

" Is there anything else, my brothers ? " 

And at that Gordon, who had not spoken 
before, turned to him and answered in the 
style as well as the language of the Arabs : — 

" Listen, I beg of you, to my words, and 
forgive me if what I say is not pleasing to 
you or yours." 

"Speak, Omar Benani, speak," said 
Ishmael, laying his right hand with an 
affectionate gesture on Gordon's left. 

There was a moment of silence, in which 
Gordon could distinctly hear the sound of 
Helena's breathing. Then he said : — 

" Reverse your order, O my brother, and 
let me go first into Cairo." 

A tingling electrical current seemed to 
pass through the air of the room, and again 
Gordon heard the sound of Helena's laboured 

■-■I I '-1 1 1 I tf I I I «i 





breathing, but no one spoke except Ishmael, 
who said in a soft voice : — 
" But why, Omar, why ? " 
Gordon braced himself up and answered: — 
"First, because it best becomes a mes- 
senger of God to enter Cairo in the company 
of his people, not alone and in disguise." 

" Andnext? "gili^ by Google 

" Next, because I know Cairo better than 
Ishmael, and all that he can do I can do, 
and more," 

There was another moment of tense 
silence, and then Ishmael said ; — 

" I listen to your sincere proposal, O my 
brother, but before I answer it I ask for the 
counsel of my friendi t fronn 




Then, raising his voice, he cried, " Com- 
panions, you have heard what Omar Benani 
has said— which of us is it to be ? " 

At that the electrical atmosphere in the 
room broke into eager and impetuous speech. 
First came, as needs must in an Eastern con- 
clave, some gusts of questions, then certain 
breezes of protest, but finally a strong and 
unbroken current of assent. 

44 Master," said one of the sheikhs, " I have 
eaten bread and salt with you, therefore I will 
not deceive you. Let Oniar go first. He can 
do all that Ishmael can do and run no risk." 

" Messenger of the Merciful," said another, 
"neither will I deceive you. Omar knows 
Cairo best. Therefore let him go first." 

After others had answered in the same 
way Ishmael turned to Mahmud, his uncle, 
whereupon the old man wiped his rheumy 
eyes and said : — 

"Your life is in God's hands, O son of my 
brother, and man cannot escape his destiny. 
If it is God's will that you should be the 
first to go into Cairo, you will go and God 
will protect you. But, speaking for myself, 
I should think it a shame and a humiliation 
that the father of his people should not enter 
the city with his children. If Omar says he 
can do as much as you, believe him — the 
white man does not lie." 

No sooner had the old man concluded 
than the whole company with one voice 
shouted that they were all of the same 
opinion, whereupon Ishmael cried : — 

" So be it, then ! Omar it shall be ! And 
do not think for one moment that I grudge 
your choice." 

" El Hamdullillah !" shouted the company, 
as from a sense of otherwise inexpressible relief. 

Meantime, Gordon was conscious only of 
Helena's violent agitation. Though he dare 
not look at her, he seemed to see her feverish 
face and the expression of terror in her 
lustrous eyes. At length, when the shouts of 
the sheikhs had subsided, he heard her tremu- 
lous voice saying hurriedly to Ishmael : — 

" Do not listen to them." 

" But why, my Rani ? " Ishmael asked, in 
a whisper. 

She tried to answer him and could not. 
"Because . . . because ..." 

" Because — what ? " asked Ishmael again. 

" Oh, I don't know— I can't think— but I 
beg you, I entreat you, not to let Omar go 
into Cairo." 

Her agitated voice made another moment 
of silence, and then Ishmael said in a soft, 
indulgent tone : — 

"I understand you, O my Rani. This 

may be the task of greatest danger, but it is 
the place of highest honour, too, and you 
would fain see no man except your husband 
assigned to it. But Omar is of me and I 
am of him, and there can be no pride or 
jealousy between us." 

And then, taking Gordon by the right hand, 
while with his left he was holding Helena, 
he said : — 

" Omar, my friend, my brother ! " 

" El Hamdullillah ! " cried the sheikhs 
again, and then one by one they rose to go. 

Helena arose too, and with her face aflame 
and her breath coming in gusts she hurried 
back to her room. The Arab woman 
followed her in a moment, and with a 
mocking smile in her glinting eyes she 
said : — 

" How happy you must be, O lady, that 
someone else than your husband is to go 
into that place of danger ! " 

But Helena could bear no more. 

"Go out of the room this moment! I 
cannot endure you ! I hate you ! Go, 
woman, go ! " she cried. 

Zenoab fled before the fury in her lady's 
face, but the next moment Helena had 
dropped to the floor and burst into a flood 
of tears. 

When she gained possession of herself 
again the child, Ayesha, was embracing her, 
and, without knowing why, was weeping over 
her wet cheeks. 

Now that Gordon was to take Ishmael's 
place, Helena found herself deeper than 
ever in the toils of her own plot. She 
could see nothing but death before him as 
the result of his return to Cairo. If his 
identity were discovered he would die for his 
own offences as a soldier. If it were not dis- 
covered he would be executed for Ishmael's 
conspiracies as she had made them known. 

" Oh, it cannot be ! It must not be ! It 
shall not be ! " she continued lo say to herself, 
but without seeing a way to prevent it. 

Never for a moment in her anxiety to save 
Gordon from stepping into the pit she had 
dug for Ishmael did she allow herself to 
think that, being the real cause of her father's 
death, he deserved the penalty she had pre- 
pared for the guilty man. Her mind had 
altered towards that event since the man 
concerned in it had changed. The more 
she thought of it the more sure she became 
that it was a totally different thing, and in 
the strict sense hardly a crime at all. 

In the first place; she reminded herself that 




her father had suffered from an affection of 
the heart which must have contributed to his 
death, even if it had not been the principal 
cause of it. How could she have forgotten 
that fact until now ? 

Remembering her father's excitement and 
exhaustion when she saw him last, she could 
see for the first time by the light of Gordon's 
story what had afterwards occurred — the burst 
of ungovernable passion, the struggle, the 
fall, the death. 

Then she told herself that Gordon had 
not intended to kill her father, and whatever 
he did had been done for love of her. 
"Helena was mine, and you have separated her 
from me, and broken her heart as well as my 
own." Yes, love for her and the torment of 
losing her had brought Gordon back to the 
Citadel after he had been ordered to return 
to his quarters. Love for her and the 
delirium of a broken heart had wrung out of 
him the insults which had led to the quarrel 
which resulted in her father's death. 

In spite of her lingering tenderness for the 
memory of her father, she began to see how 
much he had been to blame for what had 
happened — to think of the gross indignity, 
the frightful shame, the unmerciful and even 
unlawful degradation to which in his towering 
rage he had subjected Gordon. The scene 
came back to her with horrible distinctness 
now — her father crying in a half-stifled voice, 
" You are a traitor ! A traitor who has 
consorted with the enemies of his country," 
and then ripping Gordon's sword from its 
scabbard and breaking it across his knee. 

But, seeing this, she also saw her own 
share in what had occurred. At the moment 
of Gordon's deepest humiliation she had 
driven him away from her. Her pride had 
conquered her love, and instead of flinging 
herself into his arms as she ought to have 
done, whether he was in the right or in the 
wrong, when everybody else was trampling 
upon him, she had insulted him with 
reproaches and turned her back upon him 
in his disgrace. 

That scene came back to her, too — 
Gordon at the door of the General's house, 
with his deadly white face and trembling 
lips, stammering out, " I couldn't help it, 
Helena — it was impossible for me to act 
otherwise," and then, bareheaded as he was, 
and with every badge of rank and honour 
gone, staggering across the garden to the 

When she thought of all this now it 
seemed to her that if anybody had been to 
blame for her father's death it was not 

Digitized by LiOOQ I C 

Gordon but herself. His had been the 
hand, the blind hand only, but the heart 
that had wrought the dvil had been hers. 

" Oh, it cannot be, it shall not be ! " she 
continued to say to herself, and just as she 
had tried to undo her work with Ishmael 
when he was bent on going into Cairo, so 
she determined to do the same with Gordon, 
now that he had stepped into Ishmael's 

Her opportunity came soon. 

A little before midday of the day follow- 
ing the meeting of the sheikhs she was alone 
in the guest-room, sitting at the brass table 
that served her as a desk— Ishmael being in 
the camp, Zenoab and the child in the town, 
and old Mahmud still in bed — when Gordon 
came out of the men's quarter and walked 
towards the door as if intending to pass out 
of the house. 

He had seen her as he came from his bed- 
room, with one of her hands pressed to her 
brow, and a feeling of inexpressible pity and 
unutterable longing had so taken possession 
of him, with the thought that he was soon 
to lose her — the most precious gift life had 
given him — that he had tried to steal away. 

But instinctively she felt his approach, and 
with a trembling voice she called to him, so 
he returned and stood by her side. 

"Why are you doing this?" she said. 
"You know what I mean. Why are you 
doing it ? " 

" You know quite well why I am doing 
it, Helena. Ishmael was determined to go 
to his death. There was only one way to 
prevent him. I had to take it." 

" But you are going to death yourself — 
isn't that so?" 

He did not answer. He was trying not to 
look at her. 

" Or perhaps you see some way of escape 
—do you ? " 

Still he did not speak — he was even trying 
not to heor her. 

" If not, why are you going into Cairo 
instead of Ishmael ? " 

" Don't ask me that, Helena. I would 
rather not answer you." 

Suddenly the tears came into her eyes, and 
after a moment's silence she said : — 

" I know ! I understand ! But remember 
your father. He loves you. You may not 
think it, but he does. I am sure he does. 
Yet if you go into Cairo you know quite well 
what he will do." 

" My father is a great man, Helena. He 
will do his duty whatever happens — what he 
believes to be his duty." 




" Certainly he will ; but, all the same, do 
you think he will not suffer ? And do you 
wish to put him into the position of being 
compelled to cut off his own son? Is that 
right ? Can anything — anything in the world 
— make it necessary ? " 

Gordon did not answer her, but under the 
strain of his emotion he tightened his lips 
and his pinched nostrils began to dilate like 
the nostrils of a horse. 

" Then remember your mother, too," said 
Helena. " She is weak and ill. It breaks 
my heart to think of her as I saw her last. 
She believes that you have fled away to some 
foreign country, but she is living in the hope 
that time will justify you, and then you will 
be reconciled to your father and come back 
to her again. Is this how you would come 
back ? . . . Oh, it will kill her ! I'm sure 
it will ! " 

She saw that Gordon's strong and manly 
iace was now utterly discomposed, and she 
could not help but follow up her advantage. 

" Then think a little of me, too, Gordon. 
This is all my fault, and if anything is done 
to you in Cairo it will be just the same to me 
as if I had done it. Do you wish me to die 
of remorse ? " 

She saw that he was struggling to restrain 
himself, and, turning her beautiful wet eyes 
upon him and laying her hand on his arm, 
she said : — 

" Don't go back to Cairo, Gordon ! For 
my sake, for your own sake, for our love's 
sake ..." 

But Gordon could bear no more, and he 
cried in a low, hoarse whisper : — 

"Helena, for Heaven's sake, don't speak 
so. I knew it wouldn't be easy to do what I 
intended to do, and it isn't easy. But don't 
make it harder for me than it is, I beg, I 

She tried to speak again, but he would not 

"When you sent the message into Cairo 
that doomed Ishmael to death, you thought 
he had killed your father. If he had really 
done so he would have deserved all you did 
to him. But he hadn't, whereas I had. Do 
you think I can let an innocent man die for 
my crime ? " 

" But, Gordon ..." she began, and 
again he stopped her. 

" Don't speak about it, Helena. For 
Heaven's sake, don't ! I've fought this 
battle with myself before, and I can't fight 
it over again. With your eyes upon me, 
too, your voice in my ears, and your presence 
by my side.'' 


He was trying to move away, and she was 
still clinging to his arm. 

u Don't speak about our love, either. All 
that is over now. You must know it is. 
There is a barrier between us that can 
never ..." 

His voice was breaking, and he was 
struggling to tear himself away from her, but 
she leaped to her feet and crie J : — 

" Gordon, you shall hear me, you must I " 
and then he stopped short and looked at 

"You think you were the cause of my 
father's death, but you were not," she said. 

His mouth opened, his lips trembled, he 
grew deadly pale. 

" You think, too, that there is a barrier of 
blood between us, but there is no such 

"Take care of what you are saying, 

" What I am saying is the truth, Gordon — 
it is God's truth." 

He looked blankly at her for a moment in 
silence ; then laid hold of her violently by 
both arms, gazed closely into her face, and 
said in a low, trembling voice : — 

" Helena, if you knew what it is to live 
for months under the shadow of a sin — an 
awful sin — an unpardonable sin — surely you 
wouldn't . . . But why don't you speak? 
Speak, girl, speak ! " 

Then Helena looked fearlessly back into 
his excited face and said : — 

"Gordon, do you remember that you came 
to my room in the Citadel before you went 
in to that . . . that fatal interview ? " 

" Yes, yes ! How can I forget it ? " 

" Do you also remember that I told you 
then that whatever happened that day I 
could never leave my father ? " 

" Yes, certainly, yes." 

" Do you remember that you asked me 
why, and I said I couldn't tell you because 
it was a secret — somebody else's secret?" 

"Well?" His pulses were beating 
violently ; she could feel them throbbing on 
her arms. 

"Gordon," she said, "do you know what 
that secret was? I can tell you now. Do 
you know what it was? " 

" What ? " 

" That my father was suffering from heart- 
disease, and had already received his death- 

She waited for Gordon to speak, but he 
was almost afraid to breathe. 

" He didn't know his condition until we 
arrived in Egypt, and then perhaps he ought 




to have resigned his commission, but he had 
been out of the service for two years, and the 
temptation to remain was too much for him, 
so he asked me to promise to say nothing 
about it." 

Gordon released her arms and she sat 
down again. He stood over her breathing 
fast and painfully. 

" I thought you ought to have been told at 
the time when we became engaged, but my 
father said, ' No ! Why put him in a false 
position and burden him with responsibilities 
he ought not to bear ? ' " 

Helena's own voice was breaking now, 
and as Gordon listened to it he was looking 
down at her flushed face, which was thinner 
than before, but more beautiful than ever in 
his eyes, and a hundredfold more touching 
than when it first won his heart. 

" I tried to tell you that day, too, before 
you went into the General's office, so that 
you might see for yourself, dear, that if 
you separated yourself from my father I . . . 
I couldn't possibly, follow you, but there was 
my promise, and then . . . then my pride 
and . . . and something you said that pained 
and wounded me . . ." 

" I know, I know, I know," he said. 

" But now," she continued, rising to her 
feet again, " now," she repeated, in the same 
trembling voice, but with a look of joy and 
triumph, " now that you have told me what 
happened after your return to the Citadel, I 
see quite clearly, I am sure, perfectly sure, 
that my dear father died not by your hand 
at all, but by the hand and the will of 

" Helena ! Helena ! " cried Gordon, and 
in the tempest of his love and the over- 
whelming sense of boundless relief he flung 
his arms about her and covered her face 
with kisses. 

One long moment of immeasurable joy 
they were permitted to know, and then the 
hand of fate snatched at them again. 

From their intoxicating happiness they 
were awakened by a voice. It was only the 
voice of the mueddin calling to midday 
prayers, but it seemed to be reproaching 
them, separating them, tearing them asunder, 
reminding them of where they were now and 
what they were and that God was over them. 






AL - LA • HU AK 

(God is most great !) 


■rJ i 'urif ri\ m 

AL - LX - HU AK 

(God is most great !) 


Their lips parted, their arms fell away from 
each other, and irresistibly, simultaneously, 
as if by an impulse of the same heart, they 
dropped to their knees to pray for pardon. 

The voice of the mueddin ceased, and in 
the silence of the following moment they 
heard a soft footstep coming behind. 

It was Ishmael. He did not speak to 
either of them, but seeing them on their 
knees, at the hour of midday prayers, he 
stepped up and knelt between. 

great ij 


When Gordon had time to examine the 
new situation in which he found himself, he 
saw that he was now in a worse case than 

It had been an inexpressible relief to 
realize that he was not the first cause of 
the General's death, and therefore that 
conscience did not require him to go into 
Cairo in order to protect Ishmael from the 
consequences of a crime he did not commit. 
But no sooner had he passed this great crisis 
than he was brought up against a great test. 
What was it to him that he could save his 
life if he had to lose Helena? 

Helena was now Ishmael's wife — betrothed 
to him by the most sacred pledges of Moham- 
medan law. If the barrier of blood which 
had kept him from Helena had been removed, 
the barrier of marriage which kept Helena 
from him remained 

"What can we do?" he asked himself, 
and for a long time he saw no answer. 

In the fierce struggle that followed honour 
and duty seemed to say that inasmuch as 
Helena had entered into this union of her 
own free will — however passively acquiescing 
in its strange conditions — she must abide by 
it, and he must leave her where she was and 
crush down his consuming passion, which 
was an unholy passion now. But honour 
and duty are halting and timorous guides in 
the presence of love, and when Gordon 
came to think of Helena as the actual wife 
of Ishmael he was conscious of nothing but 
the flame that was burning at his heart's core. 

Remembering what Helena had told him, 
and what he had seen since he came to that 
house, he reminded himself that after all the 
marriage was c3R\3fir"Pa l r T iarr ^ a S e pro forma* a 




promise made under the mysterious com- 
pulsion of fate, a contract of convenience 
and perhaps generosity on the one side, and 
on the other side of dark and calculating 
designs which would not bear to be thought 
of any longer, being a result of the blind 
leading of awful passions under circumstances 
of the most irresistible provocation. 

When he came to think of love he was 
dead to everything else. Ishmael did not 
love Helena, whereas he, Gordon, loved her 
with all his heart and soul and strength. 
She was everything in life to him, and 
though he might have gone to his death 
without her it was impossible to live and 
leave her behind him. 

Thinking so, he began to conjure up the 
picture of a time when Ishmael, under the 
influence of Helena's beauty and charm, 
might perhaps forget the bargain between 
them and claim his rights as a husband; and 
then the thought of her beautiful head with 
its dark curling locks, as it lay in his arms 
that day, lying in the arms of the Arab, 
with Ishmael's swarthy face above her, so 
tortured him that it swept away every other 

" It must not, shall not, cannot be," he 
told himself. 

And that brought him to the final thought 
that since he loved Helena, and since 
Helena loved him and not her husband, their 
position in Ishmael's house was utterly false 
and wrong and could not possibly continue. 

" It is not fair even to Ishmael himself," 
he thought. 

And when, struggling with his conscience, 
he asked himself how he was to put an end 
to the odious and miserable situation, he 
concluded at once that he would go boldly 
to Ishmael and tell him the whole story of 
Helena's error and temptation, thereby 
securing his sympathy and extricating all 
of them from the position in which they 
were placed. 

" Anything will be better than the present 
state of things," he thought, as he reflected 
upon the difficult and delicate task he 
intended to undertake. 

But, after a moment, he saw that while it 
would be hard to explain Helena's impulse 
of vengeance to the man who had been the 
object of it, to tell him of the message 
she had sent into Cairo would be utterly 

" I cannot say anything to Ishmael about 
that," he thought, and the only logical 
sequence of ideas was that he could not say 
anything to Ishmael at all. 

This left him with only one conclusion — 
that, inasmuch as it was impossible that he 
and Helena could remain any longer in that 
house, and equally impossible that they 
could leave it with Ishmael's knowledge 
and consent, there was nothing for them 
to do but to fly away. 

He found it hard to reconcile himself to 
the idea of a secret flight. The very thought 
of it seemed to put them into the position 
of adulterers, deceiving an unsuspecting 
husband. But when he remembered the 
scene in the guest-room that day, the moment 
of overpowering love, the irresistible kiss, and 
then the crushing sense of duplicity as 
Ishmael entered and without a thought of 
treachery knelt between them, he told himself 
that at any cost whatsoever he must put an 
end to the false position in which they lived. 

"We must do it soon — the sooner the 
better," he thought. 

Though he had lived so long with the 
thought of losing Helena, that kiss had in a 
moment put his soul and body into a flame. 
He knew that his love was blinding him to 
certain serious considerations, and that some 
of these would rise up later on and perhaps 
accuse him of selfishness, or disloyalty, or 
worse. But he could only think of Helena 
now, and his longing to possess her made 
him dead to everything else. 

In a fever of excitement he began to think 
out plans for their escape, and, reflecting that 
two days had still to pass before the train 
left Khartoum by which it had been intended 
that he should travel in his character as 
Ishmael's messenger, he decided that it was 
impossible lor them to wait for that. 

They must get away at once by camel and 
desert if not by rail. And remembering 
Osman, his former guide and companion, 
he concluded to go over to the Gordon 
College and secure his aid. 

Having reached this point, he asked him- 
self if he ought not to obtain Helena's 
consent before going any farther; but no, 
he would not wait even for that. And 
then, remembering how utterly crushed she 
was, a victim of storm and tempest, a bird 
with a broken wing, he assumed the attitude 
of strength towards her, telling himself she 
was a woman after all and it was his duty 
as a man to think and to act for her. 

So he set out in haste to see Osman, 
and when, on his way through the town, 
he passed (without being recognised) a 
former comrade in khaki, a colonel of 
Lancers whose life had been darkened by 
the loss ofriilltehwife through the treachery 




of a brother officer, he felt no qualms at 
all at the thought of taking Helena from 

" Ours is a different case altogether," he 
said, and then he told himself that their life 
would be all the brighter in the future because 
it had had this terrible event in it. 

It was late and dark when he returned 
from the Gordon College, and then old 
Mahmud's house 
w r as as busy as a 
fair, with people 
coming and going 
on errands relating 
to the impending 
pilgrimage ; but he 
watched his oppor- 
tunity to speak to 
Helena, and as 
soon as Ishmael, 
who was more than 
commonly ani- 
mated and excited 
that night, had 
dismissed his fol- 
lowers and gone to 
the dour to drive 
them home, he 
approached her 
and whispered in 
her ear : — 

" Helena ! " 

44 Yes?" 

u Can you be 
ready to leave 
Khartoum at four 
o'clock in the 

For a moment 
she made no 
reply. It seemed 
to her an in- 
credible happiness 
that they were 
really to go away 
together. But, 
quickly collecting 
her wan deling 
thoughts, s h e 
answered : — 

" Yes, I can be ready." 

i% Then go down to the Post Landing. I 
shall be there with a launch." 

11 Yes, yes!" Her heart was beating 

" Osrnan, the guide who brought me here, 


will be waiting with camels on the other side 

of the river," 

" Yes, yes, yes ! " 

" We are to ride as far as Atbara, and take 

train from there to the Red Sea." 
"And what then?" 
"God knows what then. We must wait 

for the direction of fate. America, perhaps, 

as we always hoped and intended." 

She looked 
quickly round, 
then took his face 
between her 
hands and kissed 

" To - morrow 
morning at four 
o'clock/' she whis- 

"At four," he 

A thousand 
tho lights were 
flashing through 
her mind, but she 
asked no further 
questions, and at 
the next moment 
she went off to het 
own quarters. 

The door of her 
room was ajar, and 
the face of the 
Arab woman, who 
was within, doing 
something with the 
clothes of the child, 
seemed to wear the 
same mocking 
smile as before ; 
but Helena was 
neither angry nor 
alarmed. When 
she asked herself 
if the woman had 
seen or heard what 
had taken place 
between Gordon 
and herself, no 
dangers loomed 

before her in relation to their flight. 

Her confidence in Gordon — his strength, 

his courage, his power to protect her — w T as 

absolute. If he intended to take her away 

he w t ouU do so, and not Ishmael or all the 

Arabs on earth would stop him. 

HIM.' 1 

{To fa continued,} 

Original from 

Sty!® 5n& Comic Aset 

S no man tells a joke exactly 
as he has heard it, but gives 
it a twist peculiar to himself, 
not always to the joke's pro- 
sperity, so no two artists will 
draw a joke the same way. 
If no two draughtsmen even so much as see 
a given incident alike, one that had actually 
happened, it is not to be expected that they 
would portray an imaginary one with any 
uniformity- A brilliant idea recently occurred 
to the Chairman of the Strand Club, the 
reports of whose proceedings will not have 
been forgotten by our readers, to ascertain 
how a single joke imparted separately 

mercies of eleven professional humorists. 
Their illustrations re% p eal, as was expected, 
the very qualities which have made their 
work famous. In no single case has the 
notion struck them in the same way. 

But first let us relate the incident. 

A large dog of fearsome aspect dashes 
t h ro li gh a crowded th or o ugh fare, Pedes t r ians 
are panic-stricken and seek safety. Presently 
it is observed that a small boy is being 
whirled along at the other end of the dog's 
chain* The small boy does not apparently 
share the general fears either for his own 
safety or that of the public. " What are 
you frightened for ? " he pipes out cheerily ; 

WW ' 


to the members would be 
treated by them. Here was 
a chance to exhibit the indi- 
vidual style of some of the lead- 
ing artists of the kingdom, A 
joke was accordingly carefully 
compounded — or, rather, a 
touching episode of child life 
(to say nothing of the dog) 
transcribed — and this was 
entrusted in turn to the tender 

Vol sxxvijL— H 


" can't you see I've got hold of 
the dog?" 

One's first curiosity is as 
to the breed of the dog, and 
secondly as to the aspect of 
the boy. Mr. Law son IV rod 
seems to have no doubt in the 
former detail. He unhesitatingly 
rejects bloodhounds and mas- 
tiff* and plumps for a sheep- 
'i^flfrlfritil* rendering of tin? 




adventure is peculiarly his own. As a draughtsman he gets 
his effects by a bold, dashing treatment, ignoring detail in the 
rollicking rush of his pencil. 

The antithesis of this is Mr. H, M. Bateman, who aims at 
a great deal of elaboration in his humorous designs, following 
Mr, Heath Robinsons example. Here we see 
a numerous drama f is persenm^ drawn from 
various ranks and callings. The dog's speed 



and bulk are sufficient to knock down an innocent old gentleman, 
while a tender-hearted and timorous old maid seizes the oppor- 
tunity of flying to the manly bosom of an adjacent curate. In 
the foreground a small terrier watches the achievements of 
h C*rmn\f> Original from 




this member of his own species with pride 
and charm. 

A touch of Gallic draughtsmanship as 
illustrated by Guillaume is seen in Mr, 
Rem* Bull's representation. A cloud of dust 
and the remnant of a torn garment illustrate 

impression on this artist's mind, and terror 
is depicted lavishly. One wonders at the 
agility of the pedestrians, even of middle-age, 
who are able, at so little warning, to mount 
lamp- posts and become interned in manholes; 
but, of course, swift movement is of the 

the speed and ferocity of the 
canine monster who is running 
amok with such absolute 
obliviousness to the sensibili- 
ties of the bystanders. 

We gel an awe-inspiring 
animal at the hands of Mr- 
Harry Rountrce, who has also 
given us a cherubic infant. 
The incident has made its due m 



very essence of Mr, Rountree's 

A good deal could be written 
on the subject of "acrobatic 
humour,' 7 either as depicted on 
the stage or in art and litera- 
ture, It is t of course, elemental 
as appealing to the natural 
risible emotions in man, and 
rj^WJrtftBfrfirc are supposed to 




grow out of the taste for it in time. But we 
have only to recall the sedate figure of the great 
painter, Burne-Jones, roaring consumedly at 

able reputation as an animal delineator, and 
his version of the incident has an additional 
interest. Here a St. Bernard dog is making 

the contortions of the "Two 
Macs" to perceive the perma- 
nence of what is often called 
" vulgar" humour. We all think 
we are proof against the soda- 
water siphon until it is turned 
on in the next farce, when our 
sides ache with the excruciating 
wit of it. Man is a laughing 
animal, and he never becomes 
so dignified as not to laugh 
at the spectacle of a fellow-mortal trying to 
recover his hat in a gale of wind. 

Mr. J. A. Shepherd has made a consider- 

Digitized by OOOgle 


towards a man's leg. The boy 
hangs on to a rather thick chain, 
and is apparently in a very un- 
comfortable position. An old 
gentleman has placed his opened 
umbrella in front of him, and a 
fat policeman and another man 
are trying to hide behind it, 
while a third old gentleman is 
running away at a great pace. 
Hats and umbrellas are not 

considered when there is any danger, judged 

by those strewn in the roadway. 

Mr. George Morrow's wprk is always 




whimsically funny. It amuses by its very directness. He places 
the terrifying episode at the seaside, which, when one comes to 
think of it, is plausible enough. A large collie dog forms his 

Mk. UKOftCH 



conception, while as to the attitude of the dogs companion, it 
resembles that in Mr. Will Owen's drawing, another point in 
which the two pictures are similar being that the storking cap 
in the one and the sailor- hat in the other have both just left the 
head. There is a whole crowd of spectators, but, with the 
exception of the policeman who is making towards the dog, 
r^r\nolr Original from 





none are moving. In this point it will be noticed that Mr* 

Morrow's drawing differs from the others- The various kinds of 

people one meets at the seaside have been well depicted. 

As might be expected, Mr. Hawaii's 
mastiff is a comic animal— as comic 
as Mr, Hassall's very broad treatment 
can make him, As for the boy, it 

would not do to split hairs about his position in the wake of the 
dog, and accordingly, as will be noticed in several of the other 
drawings, he is made horizontal. Our artist never indulges in 
subtleties, but there are few who are more expert in broad pictorial 

Mr. Lance Thackeray depicts a ferocious nondescript making 


Or i g i n j I from 




towards a little crowd of people all running 
in the same direction. The prudent police- 
man is disappearing, and a fashionably 
dressed lady and an errand-boy are to be 

to the chain with both hands and has been 
completely dragged off his feet The leg of 
a man can just be seen after he has scaled a 
high wall, while the terrified face of another, 

seen among those eager to 
escape. The little hoy appears 
to be sitting on the dog's tail, 
and, from his genial smile, it 
would seem that he is enjoying 
the fun. 

A large St Bernard dog is 
Mr. Will Owen's conception. 

who is apparently looking to see 
what is happening after he has 
sought safely, is seen just 
glancing over the wall There 
are no nther people visible, but 
a couple of hats and sticks and 
an umbrella are lying about, 
indicating that their owners 
\\a\xi vanished. 

The Iqpy, whose stock ing-cap 

has jusf fallen off, is holding on lj-mLtheath robij^on. C Derail of the most fantastic, 


6 4 


even grotesque description is Mr, Heath 
Robinson's strong point He interprets the 
story in his own quaint fashion, The dog, 
which with other artists darts with lightning 
haste, here takes things leisurely. A poet, 
greatly impressed with his large, inexorable 

the foot of an old lady indicates her imperious 
desire to be elsewhere* Here, too, the boy 
has been completely taken off his feet. 

On the whole, we have in the foregoing 
not merely eleven versions of the same joke; 
we have eleven different jokes. No artist 

movement, tosses an ode after 
him. The whole composition 
is full of quiet drollery. 

Mr. Robinson has already 
explained in the pages of this 
Magazine how he produces his 
diverting pictorial comedy. The 
first principle with him is to be 
amused himself, and then to 
work at his drawing with a 
seriousness which provokes 
belief in the artist's belief. He thinks the 
elaboration of a joke does not spoil it: it may 
not he better than spontaneity — it is different. 

In Mr, Starr Wood's version a mongrel 
with collie tendencies is running along at top 
speed, scattering the people on both sides. A 
nurse falls into the arms of a policeman, 
leaving her charge, a little boy, to escape the 
best way it can. A stout old gentleman is 
seen running in the opposite direction, and 


has conjured up for us the inci- 
dent in the same way. It takes 
on a new aspect under each 
pencil That is not all. The 
same result might conceivably 
have been reached had the 
eleven artists actually beheld 
the scene with their own eyes. 
No man is responsible for his 
impressions : he translates them 
according to his temperament, A 
young French painter drew Napoleon six feet 
high. When one who hail freqiu'ntly seen the 
Emperor remonstrated, he replied : M I have 
only seen him once: when he was ordering 
me to charge. He was then six feet tall" 
So by the same analogy Messrs. Has sail t or 
Shepherd, or Rountree might have been so 
alarmed at the spirit of the dog as to mistake 
his breed and proportions. It may have 
been only a good-sized fox-terrier after all. 

Mr. Lawsoti Wo<hI ; Phc>tn£raph by Flcii 1 * Studio*. Mr- H. M, BjMemnn : Photograph by the Melitn Studio. Mr, Kcnc Bull : 
Photograph by J, Ru^eli & Son*, Mr: Harry Itounlre* ! PbotiMsnph Liy J. Ku^rll aiid St*n^ \U, J^ A r Shepherd \ 
Photograph by K. H. Milta Mr. (ieo. Morrow : PhnT'mr.ipb by Geo, Newne*, Ltd. Mr r John Ma*waU: Photograph hv Geo. 
Newness Ltd, Mt. W. W, Ow*n : Photograph by Elliott & Pry. Mr. L Thackeray : Photograph by Mark Mitchell & Ca 
Mr, Start Wood : Photograph by Moyse, Mr, Heath Robi^on : Photograph by Geo* Newn« t Ltd, 

by Google 

Original from 


you ever," asked an admirer 
of the late Lord Leigh ton, 
"grow weary of painting 
classical subjects?" 

"Often, Every painter is 
tempted now and then to 
abandon his province and do something 
startlingly unlike himself-" 

Once when the Academy was filled with 
"sensational " canvases Millais said he awoke 
in the middle of the night after dreaming he 
was painting a picture, " which even now 
makes my pulses tin ill, It had something to 
do with a crazy canon and the dome of 
St- Paul's, but I don't dare describe it," 

Probably, if the truth were known, every 
artist has felt a craving to break away from 
convention and portray something either 
melodramatic, unreal, or astonishing. If one 
casts an eye upon the accumulated products 
of art for the past century a large number of 
canvases stand out as being frankly an appeal 
to the love of the marvellous, if not, indeed, 
of the impossible. Certain painters, too, 
have long figured as the exponents of that 
species of art which, as Whistler said, "hits 
you in the eye," which is odd, bizarre, or 
thrilling, whether in landscape or allegory, 
or the representation of human life and inci- 
dent. One of the most famous a century ago 
was John Martin, whose pictures, remarked 
Maeaulay, "overwhelmed the spectator." 
When he showed you a landscape it was such 
a one as fairly took your breath away, full of 
immeasurable spaces, gorgeous prodigies of 
architecture, blazing skies, and impossible 
monsters. Then there came the pictures of 
Blake, which were of another order of 

Vol. mxviii. -9 


sensationalism- He was gruesome, sym- 
bolical, mysterious. Watts was under the 
influence of Blake when he painted such 
works as " Cruel Avarice, ' a man with an 
eagle's head, *' Mammon," and other weird 
and somewhat disagreeable productions. 

Perhaps no man was ever a greater master 
of pictorial sensationalism than Gustave Dort5, 
for whom " mountains and mirages, monsters 
and murderers " seemed to possess a charm. 
But for downright blood-curdling art the 
Belgian painter Wiertz is unapproached, and 
doubtless unapproachable. There is a museum 
at Brussels entirely devoted to his works, 
most of which are literally too horrible for 

Fortunately, pictorial sensationalism is of 
many kinds. It is not necessary to curdle 
our blood in order to command, even impe- 
riously, our instant attention. Let them 
speak — hut they need not shriek. Take 
such an extraordinary picture as " The Island 
of the Dead," by the famous (German painter 
Borklift, Its large and quiet majesty, the 
overpowering gloom of it, arrests the eye 
instantly. We are told that when it was first 
exhibited it made all the other pictures in 
the room look tawdry and commonplace, 
which one can well believe. Yon Uhde 
called it the "most amazing landscape that 
ever was, or ever will be, wrought by any 
painters hand." The idea of "The Island 
of the I )ead " flashed across Bdeklm one 
summer morning : a black shower was impend- 
ing, and the clouds took awesome shapes. 
But it was also, perhaps, a reminiscence of 
readings in Virgil and Dante. When he 
came to put it on canvas the vision eluded 
Original from 









by Google 

Original from 



by Google 

Original from 


6 9 


(By permission of ihe Photographic Union, Munich. English Agents, Slade Bros, and Laccy, 210, Great Portland Sir«t, London. > 

him. He made numerous attempts before 
he succeeded to his satisfaction, and even 
now there is more than one version of the 
picture. No such island, it is safe to say, 
exists, or has ever existed, on the surface of 

Digitized by ti- 

the globe ; it is a composite of which every 
detail, however, has its counterpart in Nature* 
The white-robed figure, lately sailing over the 
waters of life, is about to pass through the por- 
tals and vanish for ever into the gloom beyond* 





(Reproduced by pcrmis-iimi of Mussr*. Henry J, Mullen, Ltd., HarrogJlte, publishers of the kirgu engraving,) 

Sensationalism sometimes deals in incident 
which, inherently probable, is rendered strik- 
ing and poignant by the painter's art. But 
fact hampers the imagination, and the painter 
who seeks a striking effect usually resorts to 
the imagination either of himself or of others, 
{Jericmilt's "The Raft of the Medusa" 

by LiOOgle 

has always been considered one of the most 
striking pictures ever painted in France* lt It 
will always remain/' says one leading critic, 
" an admirable and moving creation, a master- 
piece of dramatic vigour and vivid charac- 
terization and wide and deep human interest 
and truly panoramic grandeur, long after its 







contemporary interest and historic importance 
have ceased to be thought of except by the 
aesthetic antiquarian/' 

When Bocklin's terrible picture, "The 
Plague," appeared Europe was visited by the 
cholera, and in many places there was a 
panic of fear. As a consequence the pro- 
duction created a powerful impression, and 
in its grim symbolism it will, perhaps, never 
be surpassed. Pictures like this which 
coincide with some popular emotion may 
boast an added intensity. 

There is another large and numerous class 
of "sensation" pictures— those dealing in 
moral or religious allegory. Few painters 
have attained such a reputation for this kind 
of work as M. Jean Bt^raud, who first startled 
Paris with a Gallic variant of Mr. Stead's 
theme, " If Christ came to Chicago." 
M. Bdraud has made up his mind to preach 
as well as to paint, and his canvases have 
evoked much religious emotion. " The Way 
of the Cross," reproduced in this article, is one 
of his most celebrated pictures of this kind. 
The effect of the painting is obtained by 
making the spectators representatives of the 
present day. We see a typical Parisian 
crowd stoning and reviling the patient, 
bending figure of the Saviour, just as the 
Jerusalem mob did nearly twenty centuries 
ago. On the right the sight of the Cross and 
its bearer inspires totally different feelings — 
feelings of reverence and adoration in a 
group of unfortunates. Note the couple — the 
man about town and the lady of pleasure — on 
the- extreme left 

In England the leading follower of M. 
B£raud, so far as religious allegory is con- 
cerned, is unquestionably Mr. Sigismund 
Goetze. Yet, technically, Mr. Goetze is prob- 
ably superior to the Frenchman. He set out 
to employ his brush as writers employ their 
pen in teaching a lesson, in appealing to the 
depths of man's religious nature, and the 
success with which his works have been 
rewarded is not likely to cause him to alter 
his principles. He, too, has introduced the 
Saviour amidst modern surroundings, with 
a wealth of colouring and invention which 
transfixes the spectator. "The Ever-Open 
Door" is one of the most famous of his 

Here it is the threshold leading to eternal 
salvation which is depicted, when all must 
cast off the garments of unrighteousness and 
all — the warrior, the merchant, the statesman, 
and the priest — divest themselves of all 

by Google 

earthly vanities. Two angels stand before 
the narrow passage, one of whom comforts 
and assists an exhausted Highlander. On 
the other hand is a prince of the Holy 
Church, beside whom sits an innocent babe, 
gazing upon the surrounding marvels with 
rapturous eyes. Yet, in spite of all this 
amazing elaboration, Mr. Goetze assures us 
that no sooner is one of his canvases painted 
than he promptly proceeds to forget all about 
it, passing on to his next creation. 

We have enumerated several varieties of 
what has been termed the u sensation " 
picture, which, after all, so far as popu- 
larity is concerned, may be said to rule 
in the domain of art to-day. There is still 
another sort, and that is that which arrests 
by its wealth of detail, incident, or portraiture. 
A famous modern artist recently exhibited a 
work in which there were no fewer than seven 
hundred figures ; but these were not portraits, 
nor was the theme an allegory. 

In his celebrated picture, " Love the 
Conqueror," Mr. Byam Shaw hit upon the 
novel idea of introducing the likenesses of 
all the great ones of the earth — poets, states- 
men, soldiers, and painters — since Homer's 
day into one vast procession — captives of 
unconquerable Love. 

Here Love is represented in the upper 
left-hand portion of the picture mounted 
on horseback, while before him march his 
captives, beginning with Venus, behind whom 
stalk Dante, Michael Angelo, Shakespeare, 
Mary Queen of Scots, Beethoven, Lohengrin, 
Semiramis, and others. After an interval 
come Robert Bruce, the Black Prince, and 
Henry VIII. We can just see Nelson's 
cocked hat at the margin to the right, and in 
the diminishing train many other figures may 
be distinguished, as of Napoleon, Raphael, 
Queen Elizabeth, and Boccaccio. These are 
of the living, but there are a host who have died 
at Love's hands, and of these are Sappho, 
Paola and Francesca, Juliet, Ophelia, and 
Leander. Some of these we see, their forms 
lying prostrate, at the base of the eminence 
upon which Love's charger champs his bit of 
gold. Nor must we overlook the beauty of 
the background in this striking piece of 

Of Mr. Shaw it has been said that "he 
owes most to the extraordinary fertility of his 
imagination ; to the power, of which he has 
consistently proved himself possessed, of 
embodying in his pictures a great variety 
of fanciful suggestions." 

Original from 



E had a string of names that 
had been given him when he 
renounced all the works of the 
world and the devil through 
ihe lips of his godfather, an 
old soldier who had never 
renounced anything until he found himself 
unable to keep hold of it, and of his god- 
mother, who was his spinster aunt, and had 
seldom had much to renounce. These 
names doubtless belonged to him, but that he 
belonged to them or to the serious obligations 
he had undertaken in the moment of their 
being bestowed upon him, nobody could 
seriously maintain. He pursued with ardour 
all the works of the world and the devil from 
the moment that he was steady enough on 
his feet to pursue anything ; and his name, as 
far as this earth was concerned, grew out of 
two attributes which became so manifest as 
he himself grew into life that the arbitrary 
syllables fastened to him before he was old 
enough to manifest any attributes at all 
dropped into oblivion before they had been 
remembered- His head was golden, his 
will was extraordinarily pertinacious, and his 
name was Ye llo wham mer- 
it was his aunt who gave him the name. 
He lived with her, having been left to her by 
his parents when they went to a station in 
India too unhealthy for a white baby even to 
try to live in. When they went to a better 
station society claimed his mother and a 
successful career his father ; and the years 
went by, and his aunt still kept Yellow- 
hammer and wrote books to help keep 
both herself and him. 

She loved him dearly — the more so 
because there seemed very little prospect of 
her ever having anything else to love ; and 
sometimes at night, when she came to 
M hear me my prayers, aunt," and to receive 
his sotemn confession of all the sins he had 
committed during the day, she called him 

Vol, x*iviiL,™»10L 

Barnabas— a son of consolation. That was 
when she was alone with him, and when 
there was nobody present but Barnabas him- 
self to infer from her remarks that she 
admitted any need of a consolation. All 
Barnabas ever inferred was that she loved 
him, a fact he accepted as highly natural ; 
and the conversation, therefore, when it took 
this turn, was satisfactory to them both. 
Only on Sundays w + ere his official names 
remembered, and that of necessity, when 
Yellowhammer and his aunt together made 
that official recognition of the ancient rules 
of life which she considered good for his 
soul in despite of the many new creeds and 
fads with which she saw life filling. 

u If you're coming to new things, Yellow- 
hammer/' she would remark with firmness, 
"you shall come through the old ways. 
They may not be wide enough to develop 
natures, but they were narrow enough to 
mould characters, and 1 confess that the 
natures of most of these sentimentalists do 
not appear to me to have been at all worth 
the developing. Your end will be your own 
business^ but your road I can give you, please 
God, Attend to me, Yellowhammer, What 
is your name ? n 

" Arfer Mar wyanMafiew John," Yellowham- 
mer would reply with rapidity, and at 
an early age could depart from that point — ■ 
successfully, if with several interpellations of 
his own — to the moment when he vowed to 
love as himself his neighbour, Reggie Roberts 
of the Vicarage ; to order himself lowly and 
reverently even to Mrs. Gorger, the char- 
woman, who walked the earth in loud com- 
plaint of him and all his doings ; and to learn 
and labour truly to get his own living like the 
butcher-boy down to Smifsis, 

Thus Yellowhammer had many names, but 
Yellowhammer was the one he went by. 
Where he went was another matter, It was 
almost always whither he should not have 
gone, but under these trying circumstances 




it somewhat comforted his aunt to observe 
that, even when he departed from her pre- 
cepts to a degree of distance that left her 
aghast, Yellowhammer himself was invari- 
ably aghast also, and wept over the tale of 
his misdoings with a surprise and remorse 
that never prevented him from absorbgdly 
hurrying after the chance of fresh ones at the 
first opportunity. Once he thought of some- 
thing to do, he did it, and there was the 

"If you only didn't stick to things so, 
Yellowhammer," his aunt would say, despair- 
ingly, as on the occasion when Yellow- 
hammer burst forth into an escapade con- 
nected with Mr. Smith's young horse that 
nearly cost Yellowhammer his life and Mr. 
Smith his reason. 

" I didn't stick to him, aunt," explained 
Yellowhammer; "that was it. I came off 
and I came off, and at last I came off into 
the pond." 

Yellowhammer and his aunt lived in a 
little house on a lane up in the hills off the 
London road to Brighton, and on high days 
and holidays in summer the boom of the 
motors down in the valley was as loud as the 
boom of the bees in his aunt's garden. The 
village schoolmaster came at five-thirty every 
night to teach Yellowhammer and his friend 
Reggie Roberts the things his aunt did not 
teach him in the mornings, and all the long 
afternoons Yellowhammer had to himself. 

"If I were to forbid you to go where you 
could get into mischief, Yellowhammer," said 
his aunt, " I should have to put the whole 
earth out of bounds. All I can beg you to 
do is to go where you wish, but to exercise 
your sense when you get there." 

" I don't seem to have much sense, aunt," 
said Yellowhammer, with a sigh; "but I 
promise I'll exercise as much of it as there 
is, if only I can remember." 

There were hairs turning white in his 
aunt's brown head the summer that Yellow- 
hammer turned eight, and the latter— sitting 
with Reggie Roberts in the hedge in the 
valley on the look-out for a motor that should 
be going sufficiently slowly for them to climb 
up behind it, and journey thus criminally to 
the top of Page Hill— confided to his friend 
that he feared it was his own propensity to 
get into scrapes that was turning his aunt's 
hair white. He added that Mrs. Gorger had 
said so that morning. 

" 'Tisn't that," said Roberts of the Vicarage ; 
"you get grey hairs when you get old." 

" Who's old ? " said Yellowhammer; ruffling. 

"Your aunt's old," said Roberts, kindly. 

" She's not," said Yellowhammer. 

" She is," replied Reggie Roberts. " My 
mother said so yesterday." 

" She isn't," said Yellowhammer, in a loud 
voice, turning scarlet. " You say it again an' 
I'll hit you." 

"Well, my mother says so," said Reggie 
Roberts, in injured accents. "You needn't 
hit me about it, young Yellowhammer. My 
mother said so yesterday at tea. She'll 
never marry now, your aunt won't, my 
mother says. She's had a cross in life, and 
she isn't married, and she's getting on in 
years, my mother says, and that means 
she's old." 

"It doesn't— she isn't — she will," said 
Yellowhammer, enraged at this repeated and 
authenticated insult; and as it was clearly 
impossible to fall upon Reggie Roberts's 
mother, he forthwith fell upon Reggie 
Roberts himself. Thus there arose, with 
dreadful and unexpected suddenness, a fight 
of the worst description upon the London 
and Brighton road ; and just at the moment 
when Yellowhammer, with his usual regret- 
table pertinacity, was bumping his friend's 
head in the dust and saying with each bump, 
"She doesn't — she isn't — she will," a large 
white car rushed up within two yards of 
them and stopped, with a terrible jar and a 
loud shout from its irate occupant. The 
two small boys separated involuntarily, but 
were far too much absorbed to notice any- 
thing but each other. 

" I'll give it you, young Yellowhammer," 
said Reggie Roberts, bitterly, arising with a 
countenance entirely obliterated by dust. 

"Come on, then!" said Yellowhammer, 
dancing backwards and forwards, and sparring 
in a manner nicely calculated to inspire the 
most intense aggravation. " Come on, then ! 
Come on ! Come on ! " 

"Get out of the road, you two young 
idiots ! " said a voice from the car. " Do you 
know vou were both jolly well nearly run 

Reggie Roberts walked away with dignity, 
and Yellowhammer danced round him, still 
sparring and taunting. "You say she's old 
again, an' I'll lick you worse'n I ever licked 
you before ! " he cried. 

" Did he say she was old ?" demanded the 
voice from* the car. 

This surprised Yellowhammer, and he 
paused to look at his questioner and answer 

"Yes, he did." 

" Then he deserved all he got ; only next 
time give it him elsewhere than on the 





London and Brighton highway," said the voice. 
And the car rolled off in a cloud of dust 

That night Ydk>whammer 3 lying in his bed 
in the circle of his aunt's arm, his prayers 
heard, his sins forgiven, and the moon shining 
down on them both, said : — 

'■ Are you a single woman, aunt ? " 

" Yes/' said aunt. 

" Mrs. Gorger said you were," said Yellow 
hammer, meditatively, " Myself, I don't quite 
see how you could be two. 11 

M Most of us are fifty/ 1 said aunt; w but 
that wasn't what Mrs. Gorger meant. " 

" Well, Mrs. Gorger said a greater trial to 
a single woman could hardly be/ J said Yellow- 
hammer, "She .said it this morning when I 
made a mark on the polish of the parlour 
floor. I suppose she meant I hat if you were 
two women instead of one you could help 
each other bear it," 

" No ; what she meant was that I wasn't 
married," said aunt. 

This brought Yellow hammer up against 
another memory ; and he ponders 


"I hit Reggie Roberts this afternoon 
because he said his mother said you weren't 
married/' he remarked, 

"I don't see why you should have hit him 
because his mother stated a simple truth/ 1 
said aunt, reproachfully. 

11 1 don't see either," said Yellowhammer, 
truthfully. "But I did, and I would again. 
I will too, what's more," 

"Why?" said his aunt. 

"Well, I don't know/' said Yellow- 

His aunt laughed. 

"Anyway, what Mrs. Gorger meant," she 
said, moving her head on the pillow so as to 
faring it nearer Yellowhammer's, which was 
reposing reflectively, " was that married 
women have so many trials they are accus- 
tomed to them, and unmarried women haven't 
and so they aren't." 

"And am I a trial to you, aunt?" said 
Yellowhammer, solemnly, as he lay in his 

44 No," said htfk&ftp 1 you are not You're 




the joy that makes all trials dust in the 
sunshine. You're the one thing that makes 
all the other things things that don't matter. 
You're the darling of my heart and the point 
of my life. You're not my trial — you're my 

They hugged each other in the moonlight. 

" And if Reggie Roberts dares say again 
that you're not married, aunt," said Yellow- 
hammer, fervently, returning as usual to his 
first resolution, " I'll thump him again. I'll 
thump him till he squeals at it." 

"I can't have you thumping Reggie 
Roberts so much," said aunt, firmly, " and it 
won't make me any more married if you 

" What would make you more married, 
aunt ? " said Yellowhammer, earnestly. 

" Oh, goodness knows," said his aunt, with 
a laugh. " It's time you went to sleep, 
Yellowhammer. Good night." She kissed 

" R e ggi e Roberts's mother said you'd had 
a cross in life," remarked Yellowhammer, 
turning over resignedly and preparing for 
slumber. " I thumped him for that, too." 

His aunt stood still a moment and then 
went away. 

By Monday afternoon Yellowhammer and 
Reggie Roberts were once more seated in 
the closest friendship on the London and 
Brighton road. The dire events of Friday 
were obliterated from the minds of both, 
chiefly because they had happened on Friday, 
which was so long a time ago. They were 
sitting, therefore, in the same united purpose, 
hoping to catch a car going sufficiently slowly 
up Page Hill to suit the pace of their short 
legs. But car after car went by too fast for 
them to get anywhere near, and time after 
time they returned disconsolate to their post 
in the hedge. 

"Oh, it's no go," said Reggie Roberts. 
" Let's give up. Let's go home." 

"Any moment," said Yellowhammer, 
firmly, "there might come along an old car 
that would simply crawl up." 

" But it's getting long past tea-time," said 
Reggie Roberts. 

" Let it get," said Yellowhammer, seated 
immovably with his hands round his knees 
and gazing intently across the commons. 
11 1 don't want any." 

" I don't believe my mother would like 
me to hang on a motor," remarked Reggie 
Roberts, virtuously. 

"Then go home and don't," said Yellow- 

Reggie Roberts sighed and remained where 

he was, and the next moment Yellowhammer 
cried : " There's another ! " and far along the 
white ribbon of the road appeared a white 

" It's going slow," said Yellowhammer, 

" So it is," said Reggie Roberts, catching 
fire. They watched breathlessly. 

" It's the same white car that nearly ran 
us over the day I licked you," said Yellow- 

"You mean the day I jolly well nearly 
licked you, young Yellowhammer," said 
Reggie Roberts, hastily. They continued to 

" It's the car of the man who lives at the 
Park at Grow Cross," said Reggie Roberts. 
" I've often seen him turn in there when I 
was out driving with my mother." 

" It's going jolly slow whose ever it is," 
remarked Yellowhammer, tense with 

It was. Its solitary occupant came driving 
across the commons through the lovely 
spring weather as though he had eternity 
before him, and the small boys slipped out 
behind him the instant he had passed. The 
car felt the rise of the hill and began to 
slacken, and before its idle driver had 
stooped to his levers Yellowhammer and 
Reggie Roberts were up behind, hanging on 
to the empty luggage-carrier. Up they went, 
higher and higher. Yellowhammer's eyes 
were shining. 

"Isn't this awful luck?" he gasped, clinging 
on for dear life. 

" Awful," hissed Reggie Roberts in return. 
Another moment elapsed, and for that one 
moment longer Reggie Roberts succeeded in 
thinking it luck. Then, choked with dust, 
shaken to pieces, and filled with unnamable 
fears, he gasped, "I don't like it— I shall 
drop off" — and dropped. He did it so 
unskilfully that he fell flat, but scrambled up 
unhurt in time to see Yellowhammer twist 
himself dexterously right up on to the luggage- 
carrier and wave an exultant hand. At the 
same instant the unconscious driver in front 
took out his watch, glanced at it, and stooped 
again. The car, with a sudden spring, shot 
forward up the hill and over the brow, and 
was gone. 

When Reggie Roberts reached the top 
himself his mouth fell open. The long high- 
way stretched on for miles across the commons, 
and far away a tiny car shot Londonwards at 
the rate of over twenty miles an hour. There 
was no sign anywhere of the reckless Yellow- 






" I belong to Page-in the- Hill," said Yellow- 

" The deuce you do," said the man who 
stood surveying him. " I belong to Grow 
Cross myself, and that's only five miles 
beyond it." 

" I know you do," said Yellowhammer, 

" I must have seen you somewhere about 
the place," said the man, reflectively. M I 
seem to remember your face." 

As, on the occasion when he had seen 
Yellow hammer's face, Yellowhammer had 
been rubbing Reggie Roberts's face in the 
dust, it seemed wiser not to stimulate his 
memory further. Yellowhammer sat silent on 
his chair and looked at him with a courageous 
and polite demeanour. An hour before he 
had been lifted from the luggage carrier out- 
side a small house in Stratton Street by 
three astounded men- — the driver of the car, 
his butler, and his chauffeur- Sick and half un- 
conscious, Yellowhammer was still clinging on 
with such tenacity that his fingers had to be 
unfastened one by one, but brandy and milk 

and much rubbing had brought him round, and 
in the bath which completed his cure, he and 
his yellow head, to the heart's undoing of the 
butler, had finally emerged from the obscurity 
of dust which had veiled them. Now he had 
been brought up to judgment and deposited 
on a chair in the smoking-room for that 
purpose by the same secretly sympathetic 
and anxious functionary'. But no one but 
Yellowhammer himself knew the appalling 
sensation of despair and horror that was 
settling on his small soul at the realization of 
the situation in which his last failure to 
exercise sense had plunged him. 

" And do you mean to tell me, you young 
rascal/ 1 said the man of the car, "that you 
were on that carrier behind me the whole 
way up ? " 

" I wanted to go to the top of the hill," 
said Yellowhammer. 

"You went a good bit farther than the 
top of the hill," said the man. 

"Well, you went so fast," said Yellow- 
hammer, with bitter reproach. "You went 
so fast I couldn't drop off when we did get to 




the top of the hill- You never once went 
slow enough again for me to drop off that / 
remember the whole way here." 

"Well, of all the cool hands !" ejaculated 
the man, with a sudden laugh, and at that 
moment the door opened and another man 
came in, wearing a top-coat over his evening 

" Look here, Gilson," said the first man, 
glancing round. " Look at this, I ask you. 
Look at this young scoundrel, who has come 
up to London on my car without being 
asked, and now sits in my house rebuking 
me because I didn't regulate my pace to suit 
his nefarious schemes." 

he sat and stared at the two men, who re- 
garded him with a mingling of amusement 
and sternness, 

"What's your name, my boy, eh ?" said 
the newcomer, 

" Arthur Maryan Matthew John/ 1 said 
Yellow hammer. 

"And what on the top of all that ? " 

"Borde t " said Ydlowhamnien 

u And whom do you live with ?" went on 
the new-comer. 

11 Aunt," said Yellowhammer, briefly. But 
at the mention of the word which his heart 
was crying his heart overflowed. He con- 
tinued to sit still, but he turned scarlet to 


The new-comer was put in full possession 
of Yellowhammer's story, and Yellowhammer 
heard the recital with a shaking soul. He 
gathered from it the distance he had come, 
the lateness of the hour. Sick with dismay, 

the roots of his hair and the tears welled 

slowly out of his eyes and rolled down his 

cheeks. Both men made a hasty movement 

towards him, but the second reached him 
fi„ tf Original from 





" Don't cry, my boy. It's all right You 
shall go back to her in a jiffy. Tell us her 
name and address, and we'll try and get a 
wire through to night." 

"She's my Aunt Magdalene, and her 
name's Miss Magdalene Maryan Maitland, 
and we live in the cottage with a red wall 
round it at Page-in-the-Hill," said Yellow- 

Neither of the men said anything for a 
moment. The second gave a rapid glance 
at the first and then looked away. The first 
gazed fixedly at Yellowhammer. 

41 Well, that's very plain and precise," said 
the second man, with great cheerfulness. 
" Now we know exactly where we are. The 
next thing to be done, young man, is to put 
you to bed, and meanwhile someone had 
better go off to the Central and wire to Miss 

"She wouldn't get a wire till to-morrow 
morning if you sent it from a thousand 
Centrals," said the man of the car, shortly. 
" It's long past eight." 

" Well, it can't be helped," said Gilson. 

Silence fell again. 

" Anyway, the boy ought to be put to bed 
somewhere, and we ought to be off," said 
Gilson. The other silently pressed the bell, 
and the butler appeared. 

But Yellowhammer slipped from Gilson's 
knee and stood. 

"Thank you very much," he said, breath- 
lessly, fear struggling with politeness on his 
tongue, "but I'm afraid I must go back to 
aunt. I can't sleep in this house." 

"You shall go back first thing to-morrow, 
sir," whispered the butler, hastily. 

" I'm afraid I must go back to-night," said 
Yellowhammer, politely. 

" Now, my boy, you must just be sensible," 
said Gilson, impatiently. " You've given 
everybody quite enough trouble as it is." 

" I won't give anyone any more trouble," 
said Yellowhammer. " I will go in a train. 
If you'll lend me some money, my aunt will 
pay you back. I am afraid I must go back 
to her to-night." 

" You can't do anything of the sort," said 
Gilson. " Henry, take him off. Harmer, it's 
time we went." 

"You come alonger me, sir," said the 
butler, persuasively. 

Yellowhammer stood immovable, and ex- 
plained again. 

" Aunt doesn't know where I am," he said. 
" I'm afraid I must go back to her to-night." 

"Unless she was a clairvoyante," said 
Gilson, " it's not likely she could know where 

you are. She'll know to-morrow, and I hope 
she'll deal with you as you deserve. Go off 
at once with Henry, and do as you are told. 
Do you hear ? " 

Yellowhammer looked round. His Hps 
trembled. Three grown men against one 
small boy made odds too heavy for defiance 
to be thought of. Neither was yielding to be 
thought of. He looked at each in turn ; 
the man of the car had taken no part in the 
discussion. He stood silent; and Yellow- 
hammer met his glance. 

"Aunt will be frightened," said Yellow- 
hammer, addressing him. His breast heaved 
at the thought of her fear. " She can't go on 
being frightened as long as all that. I must 
go back to her to-night." 

"Of all the pertinacious little fools!" 
ejaculated Gilson. " Won't you understand 
that you can't get back to her to-night ? " 

" Yes, he can," said the first man, shortly. 
" He can go down with Wilkins in the car at 
once. That will save her some hours of it, 

Gilson gave him the same rapid glance as 
before, and then said : — 

" Well, that's not a bad idea. Perhaps 
it would be the best plan ; much the simplest, 
anyway. Shall we go, then. Harmer? We're 
very late already. Your men can get the 
boy off." 

"Oh, I think I'll see him start," said the 
other. " Don't you wait for me, Gilson. 
.I'll follow you." 

" I'll wait if you do," said Gilson, curtly. 
" It's no good my going alone." 

Some time later Yellowhammer was seated 
in the car outside the house in Stratton 
Street. He sat alone behind, very small and 
very silent ; and the chauffeur, ready and 
equipped, sat in his place in front. Gilson 
and Harmer stood on the doorstep, but 
Yellowhammer looked beyond them to where 
the butler smiled and smiled in the back- 
ground. In the presence of his master he 
could do no more in the way of encourage- 
ment, but Yellowhammer knew him for a 
friend and had kissed him fervently at the 

" Well, now, off you go," said Gilson, 
impatiently. " What are you waiting for ? " 

" They're waiting for me" said the man of 
the car, suddenly. " Henry, get me a coat 
and cap ; I think I'll go down, too " 

" Nonsense, Harmer," said his friend, 

" Yes, I think I will," said the first man, 
F «• You-'Bflft al W 1 madness. What 





you thinking of?" cried Gilson, unable to 
conceal his vexation. 

" I believe that's what I'm going down to 
find out. Henry, where's my scarf?" 

" You can't disappoint people like this ; 
you're expected. I swear I won't make 
excuses for you." 

" You needn't," said the first man. He 
buttoned his coat. His good temper had 
returned ; that of the other had vanished. 

"If you don't turn up to-night, I suppose 
you know what will be understood ? " he said, 
angrily, in a low voice. 

" It's clear you know," said Harmer, with a 
laugh. " I didn't know you were counsel for 
the prosecution, old fellow. Good night. 
It's a shame to leave you in the lurch." 

" I'm not thinking of myself," said Gilson. 
"To chuck such a chance for an old 
affair " 

" I know you aren't," said the other, 
affectionately; "you're thinking chiefly of 
me — and a little of your own role in the 
young woman's house as ami de famille. 
You're the best of good chaps, Gilson." 

He climbed into the car and in a business- 
like manner took Yellowhammer on his knee 
and wrapped a rug round him. " I don't 
doubt I'm an ass." 

"Neither do I doubt it," said Gilson, 
bitterly. " I wash my hands of you." 

"Don't be so final," said the first man, 
laughing. " I shall probably merely go on 
to my own place and spend the night there. . 
Lay you fifty to one I'm back in town 
to-morrow, and you shall come with me and 
help me make my peace." 

" I'll do nothing of the sort," said Gilson. 

"Then I'll do it without you — if I want 
to. Right, Wilkins ; off you go." The car 
rolled out into the roar of Piccadilly on its 
second journey that day. 

After a short silence Yellowhammer re- 
marked, with forethought, " When you get 
to the foot of Page Hill you turn to the right 
and you go far up the hill, and you come to 
the village and you 

-turn to the left and you go past the 
Green, and you see a low white house with 
an old red wall round it," said the man, with 
a laugh. 

" Have you been there ? " said Yellow- 
hammer, in astonishment. 

" And you go in — at least, you do if you 
have any luck," said the other ; " there are 
lavender clumps all the way up the path and 
a beech like a watch-tower by the house." 

" You've been there," said Yellowhammer, 
with conviction. 

" Yes, I've been there," said Harmer. 

" I've never seen you there, 7 ' said Yellow- 

" No, you never have," said the man. 

When the car at last left London and 
issued into the peace of the country Yellow- 
hammer was at peace also and sound asleep, 
and his companion was staring abstractedly 
over his head into the night, looking past 
Yellowhammer's lifetime to a distant date in 
his own. 

The meeting between Yellowhammer and 
his aunt took place between the lavender 
clumps, and Harmer watched it from the 
shadow of the red wall. Neither remembered 
him for some minutes, and when Yellow- 
hammer's aunt at last did so, and attempted 
to rise from her knees, Yellowhammer, with 
his usual pertinacity, held so closely to her, 
and continued to kiss her so vigorously in his 
passion of relief and remorse, that she could 
not manage it. 

She said between laughter and tears, "I 
beg your pardon. Yellowhammer, tell me 
who this is, that I may thank him properly." 

" He's been here before, aunt," said Yellow- 

" Yes, I've been here before," said Harmer. 

The car and the chauffeur went on to 
Grow Cross alone. Aunt, self-collected, 
dignified, and gracious, refused to accept 
any other suggestion. Ever since Reggie 
Roberts had been found distraught at a late 
hour in a turnip-field and his dreadful tale 
elicited from him, there had been food and 
fires ready, in preparation for what the night 
might bring forth. His room was ready — he 
must be hungry after his long run down— she 
would come and give him some supper if 
he would wait a minute while she put 
Yellowhammer to bed. 

He walked up and down the little dining- 
room and waited ; and she came at last, 
apologizing for her delay. 

He guessed that when she was alone with 
Yellowhammer she had forgotten everything 
but that Yellowhammer was with her. 

" I did not know your sister had married/' 
he said. 

" She married in India and sent me the 
baby," she said, smiling through the traces 
of tears on her lashes ; and added, cheer- 
fully, " He's a great comfort to me in spite 
of his wickedness — now that I'm growing so 
old and grey-haired." She went to the table. 
" Won't you come and sit down ? " she said. 

" No," said the man. He stood still at 
the other end of the room, and added, 
" Magdalene ! " 




She started in astonishment 

" If I break bread in this house,"' said the 
man, with deliberation, "it means one thing 

" ft means that I am deeply grateful to 

you for coming— for bringing " she said, 

after a moment, gazing at him with reproachful, 
half-terrified eyes, 

" If that's what it means, I'm going on to 
Grow Cross," he said, and looked round as if 
for his cap, 

" Your car's gone," she said, taken aback- 

one in her place. Yet loneliness was the 
last thing she had thought she was sending 
him to. She gazed at him — mute. He lifted 
a salt-cellar and looked underneath it with a 
stern countenance, apparently for his cap. 

" You had no right to punish me so," he 
said, and went to the door. He stumbled 
over a chair as he went, and she saw he 
could not see. 

" I never knew it was a punishment," she 
said, faintly. 

"Then you should be ashamed of your- 


" I once went eight thousand miles because 
you sent me away* I can walk five now," he 
said, with great effect ; and continued search-* 
ing the dining-room far his cap, oblivious of 
the fact that it was quite the last place where 
he was likely to find it* 

" I never sent you away," she said, with an 
effort "You weren't there to send — and 
that was it." 

" I was. I always was, I swear I always 
was," said the man, with vehemence "A 
woman can't understand — no woman can. 
Where have I been since ? " 

" I don't know," she said. 

"Where you sent me," he said, eurtly P 

That was convincing. He had put no 

Vol, xtxviu. — H. 

Digitized by C-OOQ I C 

self," he replied, with nil the loftiness of a 
sinner who sees where another has erred. 

He opened the door, but turned to deliver 
one more Parthian shot ere he departed. 
m "If you had amused yourself with fifty 
other men, do you think I should have done 
anything hut understand you and laugh at 
you and know you loved me best? Good 
night," He took a step out into the hall 

"Oh, don't go away again — oh, don't go 
away like that!" she said, incoherently, "I 
did — I do — I would. Come hack — I will" 

"So now I hope you see, young Roberts," 
said Yellowhammer, firmly and with much 
clearness of language, "why I hit you when 
you told those lies about my aunt." 

Original from 


Tk@ Best Puzzles With Corns. 


Author of " 7#* Canterbury Puzzles: and Other Curious Problems." 


T is a common saying that 
"puzzles can be made out of 
anything," which means that the 
simplest and most familiar mate- 
rials, such as coins, matches, 
pieces of string or wire, letters 
of the alphabet, the nine digits, counters, 
dominoes, pieces of sugar, beans or pebbles, 
singly or combined, will readily lend them- 
selves to the illustration of 
puzzle ideas. In the pre- 
sent article it is proposed 
to consider a selection of 
posers, some old and 
others new, in which 
coins alone are employed. 
There is no reason why 
we should be too rigid 
in our selection, by excluding those examples 
where marked counters or even plain pebbles 
would suit our purpose just as well as 
coins ; but, after all, it is safe to say that 
wherever two or three persons are gathered 
together, in the home, the club, the railway- 
carriage, the house-boat, or on the sands at 
the seaside, nothing is more easy to produce 
at any moment than a few coins. And for 
the most part it will be found quite immaterial 
for our purpose whether these be sovereigns, 
shillings, or halfpence. 

A well-known little puzzle is to place four 
pennies so that they are all equidistant from 
one another. This is, of course, quite easy. 
Arrange three of them flat on the table so 
that they touch one another in the form of 
a triangle, and then place the fourth on the 
top in the centre. Then, as every penny 
touches every other penny, they are all at 
equal distances from one another. Now try 
to do the same thing with five pennies, and 
you will discover that it is a more 
difficult matter. 

We know, from the various 
optical illusions that are from time 
to time published, how easily the 
eye is deceived in such matters as 
direction, relative distances, and 
parallel lines. The following gene- 
rally produces surprising results. 
Place three pennies in a row, as 

Digitized by K*i 

FIG. 2. 

shown in the diagram (Fig. i). Now slide the 
middle penny towards you until the distance 
between it and each of the other two coins is 
exactly equal to the distance from A to B. 
This should be attempted quickly and 
entirely by the eye. Then measure the 
distances, and you will perhaps find that you 
are an astonishingly long way out. 

Our observation of little things is also 
frequently defective and 
our memories very liable 
to lapse. A certain judge 
IB recently remarked in a 

case that he had no re- 
collection whatever of 
putting the wedding-ring 
g distances. on his wife's finger. 

Can you correctly answer 
these questions without having the coins in 
sight? On which side of a penny is the 
date given? Some people are so unobser- 
vant that, although they are handling the 
coin nearly every day of their lives, they are 
at a loss to answer this simple question. If 
I lay a penny flat on the table, how many 
other pennies can I place around it, every 
one also lying flat on the table, so that 
they all touch the first one? The geome- 
trician will, of course, give the answer at 
once, and not need to make any experiment. 
He will also know that, since all circles are 
similar, the same answer will necessarily 
apply to any coin. The next question is a 
most interesting one to ask a company, each 
person writing down his answer on a slip of 
paper, so that no one shall be helped by the 
answers of others. What is the greatest 
number of threepenny-pieces that may be 
laid flat on the surface of a half-crown, so 
that no piece lies on another or overlaps the 
surface of the half-crown ? It is 
amazing what a variety of different 
answers one gets to this question. 
Very few people will be found to 
give the correct number. 

Here is a puzzle of another kind. 

Take one of the earlier Queen 

Victoria shillings, on which her 

—the late Majesty is depicted as a young 

puzzle. woman (Fig. 2), as here shown 






(these are, of course, still in extensive circula- 
tion), and on the side we have represented 
try to find an elephant, symbolizing the 
Indian Empire. When you have succeeded 
in doing this, try to find one on the other 
side of the coin. 

Arrange twenty pence in the form of 
a cross, in the manner shown in Fig. 3. 
Now, in how many different ways can you 
point out four pennies that will form a perfect 
square if considered alone? Thus, the four coins 
composing each arm of the cross, and also 
the four in the centre, form squares. Squares 
are also formed by the four coins marked A, 
the four marked B, and so on. And how 
may you remove six coins so that not a single 
square can be so indicated from those that 
remain ? 

If sixteen pennies are arranged in the form 
of a square there will be the same number 
of pennies in every row, every column, and 
each of the two long diagonals. Can you do 
the same with twenty pennies ? 

A little puzzle that I first gave in this 
Magazine in December, 1896, appears to 
have become widely known, but it may be well 
to reproduce it here (Fig. 4). It is required 
to place the fewest possible current English 
coins in the seven empty divisions of the 
diagram so that each of the three rows, 
three columns, and two diagonals shall add 
up fifteen shillings. No division may be 

If we place sixty- four pennies in the form 
of a square, it is not a difficult matter to 
remove six coins so that there shall remain 
an even number of coins in "every row and 
column. That is, so that no row or column 
ever contains an odd number of coins. For 
example, we may remove the first and second 
in the first row, the first and third in the 
second row, and the second and third in the 
third row. Every row and column will then 
contain an even number. But it is an enter- 
taining puzzle to discover in just how many 
different ways the six coins may be removed. 
In this puzzle we do not take the diagonals 
into consideration. 

Place sixteen pennies in a straight row, as 
shown in the illustration (Fig. 5). The point in 
this puzzle is to make these sixteen coins into 
four piles, with four coins in every pile, by 
always passing a coin over four others. Thus, 





you may place 1 on 6, 1 1 on 1 (resting on 6), 
7 on 4, and so on, until there are four in 
every pile. It will be understood that it does 
not matter whether the four passed over are 
standing alone or piled — they count just the 
same — and you can always carry a coin in 
either direction. There are a great many 
ways of doing it in twelve moves, so it makes 
a good game of " patience " to try to solve it 
so that the four piles shall be left in different 


10 11 12 12, 14* IS 16 


without at least one coin, and no two 
divisions may contain the same value. The 
two coins that are already placed may not be 
removed fron*4heir present positions. 

Digitized by Google 

stipulated places. For example, try to leave 
the piles at the extreme ends of the row, on 
Nos. 1, 2, 15, and 16; this is quite easy. 
Then try to leave three of the piles together 

u\ I I '.' I I I 


8 4 


o o 

o o 


o o 

o o 



on Nos. 13, 14, and 15. 
Then again play so that 
they shall be left on 
Nos. 3, 5, 12, and 14. 

Place ten pennies on 
a large sheet of paper 
or cardboard (Fig. 6), as 
shown in the diagram, 
five on each edge. Now 
remove four of the coins, 
without disturbing the 
others, and replace them 
on the paper so that 
the ten shall form five 
straight lines with four 
coins in every line. This 
in itself is not difficult, 
but you should try to 
discover in how 
many different 
ways the puzzle 
may be solved, 
assuming that in 
every case the two 
rows at starting 
are exactly the 

Here is a little 
puzzle that first 
appeared, so far as 
I have been able 
to discover, in a 
book published in 
Brussels in 1789, 
"Les Petites 
Aventures de 
Jerome Sharp." 
First draw the 
diagram as illus- 
trated (Fig. 7). 
The puzzle is to 

place seven pennies on seven of the eight 
points in the following manner. You must 
always touch a point that is vacant with a 
coin, and then move it along a line leading 
from that point to the next vacant point (in 
either direction), where you deposit the penny. 
You proceed in the same way until all the 
seven coins are placed. Remember you 
always touch a vacant place and slide the 
coin from it to the next place, which must 
be also vacant. Obviously you cannot place 
the eighth coin, because after placing the 
seventh there will be only one vacant point 
available, and you must have two — one to 
touch and its neighbour on which you leave 
the coin. Many people at first find them- 
selves perplexed by this little poser, but it is 
ridiculously easy when you discover the rule. 
Can you find it ? 

Place twelve plates, 
as shown, on a round 
table, with a penny in 
every plate (Fig. 8). 
Start from any plate you 
like and, always going 
in one direction round 
- the table, take up one 
penny, pass it over two 
other pennies, and place 
it in the next plate. 
Go on again ; take up 
another penny and, 
having passed it over 
two pennies, place it in 
a plate ; and so con- 
tinue your journey. Six 

sharp's puzzle. 








coins only are to be removed, and when these 
have been placed there should be two coins 
in each of six plates and six plates empty. 
An important point of the puzzle is to go 
round the table as few times as possible. It 
does not matter 
whether the two coins 
passed over are in one 
or two plates nor how 
many empty plates you 
pass a coin over. But 
you must always go in 
one direction round 
the table and end at 
the point from which 
you set out. Your 
hand, that is to say, 
goes steadily forward 
in one direction, with- 
out ever moving back- 
wards. The analytical 
solver may be in- 
terested in comparing 
this with the " Pile 
Puzzle" previously 

given, and in discovering the general laws 
in the two cases of circles. and rows. 

The above diagram (Fig. 9) represents the 
engine -yard of a railway company under 
eccentric management. The engines are 
allowed to be stationary only at the nine 
points indicated, one of which is at present 
vacant. It is required to move the engines, 
one at a time, from point to point, in seventeen 
moves, so that their numbers shall be in 
numerical order round the circle, with the 
central point left vacant. But one of the 
engines has had its fire drawn, and therefore 
cannot move. How is the thing to be done ? 
And which engine remains stationary through- 
out? The coins can, 
of course, be easily 
numbered with little 
labels made from 
postage-stamp margin. 

Take seven pennies 
in your hand in a pile. 
Now place the top coin 
on the table, carry the 
next coin to the bottom 
of the pile, place the 
next coin on the table 
to the right of the first, 
carry the next one to 
the bottom of the pile, 
place the next one on 
the table to the right 
of the last one, and so 
on until all the seven FIG * 




a ,o 

pennies have been placed on the table, like 
cards dealt in a row. They must then 
appear alternately — head, tail, head, tail, 
head, tail, head. The puzzle consists in 
finding the correct way of prearranging the 
seven coins in the pile. 
Of course, when carry- 
ing any coin from the 
top to the bottom of 
the pile, or to the table, 
you must never turn it 
over, but always keep 
it with the same side 

Place eleven pennies 
on the table. Then 
request the company 
to remove five coins 
from the eleven, add 
four coins, and leave 
nine. It certainly looks 
as if there must be ten 
pennies left, but there 
is a catch in the puzzle. 
Can you find it ? 
Ask a friend to put a sovereign in one 
pocket and a crown in the opposite pocket. 
Tell him that the sovereign represents 20 and 
the crown 5. Now ask him to triple the coin 
that is in his right pocket and double that 
which is in his left pocket, and then add 
these two products together, simply telling 
you whether the result is odd or even. If it 
be even, then the sovereign is in his right 
pocket and the crown in the left ; if it be 
odd, then the sovereign is in his left pocket 
and the crown in his right. You may give 
any values to the coin other than 20 and 5, 
provided that one number is odd and the 
other even, the even number being given to 
the gold. And you 
can, of course, use any 
other coins, so long as 
you give them odd and 
even values. 

Place ten pennies in 
a circle and number 
them 1 to 10 in order 
(Fig. 10). Then ask 
someone to select any 
one of the coins, with- 
out telling you which, 
and then touch any 
other coin. We will 
suppose that he secretly 
selected No. 7 and 
touched No. 5. You 
now tell him to count 
silently fifteen back- 



,[ B Original fru.. 




wards round the circle, starting at the coin he 
touched and calling that the number of the 
coin he secretly selected. Thus, starting at 
No. 5, he will count, 7, 8, 9, io, etc. (touch- 
ing in turn 5, 4, $ t a, and so on) t until he 
counts 15, which will land him on the coin 
he thought of. He is thus made to indicate 
his secretly -chosen coin, and the result is 
calculated to surprise the juvenile mind. 
The trick lies in giving the number 15, 
which you obtain by adding the number he 
touched, 5, to the total number of coins, 10. 
But any multiple of io, added to his 5, would 
do equally welh Thus, if he touches 5 a 
second time, you can direct him to count 25 
ur 35, in order to put him off the scent 

It is an interesting puzzle to discover in 
just how many different ways change may be 
given for various coins of the realm. Ob- 
viously change for a halfpenny can only be 
given in one way, change for a penny in three 
ways (two halfpennies, or a halfpenny and 
two farthings t or four farthings), and change 

piece, How did the tradesman manage to 
give change? For the benefit of those 
readers who are not familiar with the 
American coinage, it is only necessary to say 
that a dollar is a hundred cents and a dime 
ten cents, A puzzle of this kind should 
rarely cause any difficulty if attacked in a 
proper manner* 

A man had three coins — a sovereign, a 
shilling, and a penny— as shown in the illus- 
tration (Fig, 1 1 }, and he found that exactly 
the same fraction of each coin had been 
broken away. Now, assuming that the original 
intrinsic value of these coins was the same 
as their nominal value— that is, that the 
sovereign was worth a pound, the shilling 
worth a shilling, and the penny worth a 
penny — what proportion of each coin has 
been lost if the value of the three remaining 
fragments is exactly one pound ? This again 
is most simple. 

There is perhaps no class of puzzle over 
which people so frequently blunder as that 


for a threepenny piece in sixteen ways. Now, 
in how many ways is it possible to give change 
for a shilling, and also for a half-sovereign? 
I will give next month a table showing the 
number of ways of giving change for any 
current coin of the realm, merely saying here 
that a sovereign may actually be changed in 
over five hundred million different ways ! 
The reader may like to discover for himself 
the exact number in this additional case. 

Everyone is familiar with the difficulties 
that frequently arise over the giving of change, 
and how the assistance of a third person with 
a few coins in his pocket will sometimes help 
ua to set the matter right, Here is an 
example. An Englishman went into a shop 
in New York and bought goods at a cost of 
thirty-four cents* The only money he had 
was a dollar, a three-cent piece, and a two- 
cent piece. The tradesman had only a half- 
dollar and a quarter dollar. But another 
customer happened to be present, and when 
asked to help produced two dimes, a five- 
cent piece, a two-cent piece, and a one cent 

Digitized by Google 

which involves what is called the theory of 
probabilities. I will give two simple examples 
of the sort of puzzle I mean. They are really 
quite easy, and yet many persons are tripped 
up by them, A friend recently produced five 
pennies and said to me : " In throwing these 
five pennies at the same time, what are the 
chances that at least four of the coins will 
turn up either all heads or all tails?" His 
own solution was quite wrong, but the correct 
answer ought not to be hard to discover, 
Another person got a wrong answer to the 
following little puzzle which I heard him 
propound: "A man placed three sovereigns 
and one shilling in a bag, How much should 
be paid for permission to draw one coin from 
it?" It is, of course, understood that you 
are as likely to draw any one of the four 
coins as another. 

Then there are certain little puzzle games 
that can be played with a few coins. Here 
is a rather ancient one, and the discovery of 
the simple rule for winning is a good test of 
sharpness in a child. Place fifteen coins on 




the table. Two players play alternately, each 
taking away from the heap either one, two, 
or three coins at a time at his option. The 
player wins who forces his opponent to take 
the last coin. This is quite easy, yet an 
improvement is made by stipulating with 
your opponent that he may put as many 
coins as he likes on the table provided he 
allows you to decide who shall draw first. I 
gave»a very difficult extension of this game 
in " The Thirty-one Puzzle " in this Magazine 
for March, 1908. 

Though there is no essential difference 
between a puzzle and a conjuring trick, 
examples of the latter that depend on sleight 
of hand hardly come within the scope of this 
article. Yet there are many 
tricks with coins, adapted to the 
dinner - table during dessert, 
that might be included if space 
permitted. For example, there 
is "The Puzzling Sixpence " 
(Fig. 12). You support a 
tumbler on two pennies, with 
a sixpence placed underneath 
in the centre, as in the illus 
tration. You are asked to re- 
move the sixpence without 
touching the glass — that is, to 
bring the sixpence into such a 
position that it may be picked up with the 
fingers without touching the glass. 

In " The Marked Penny " you lay out a 
number of pence on a cold marble mantel- 
piece and hand round to the company 
another penny to be examined and carefully 
marked for identification. The longer they 
keep it in their hands the better, and you 
can retain it in your own palm while you are 
explaining what you propose to do. You 
then sweep the coins off the mantelpiece into 
a hat, throw in the marked coin, and after 
shaking them up undertake (while your hand 
is covered by a pocket-handkerchief) to pick 

is to throw on one side all the cold coins 
until you feel the warm one ! 

In solving a puzzle that appears to contain 
a trick, such as the last, it is well to always 
remember the fact that we have five senses — 
taste, smell, sight, hearing, and touch, the 
last-mentioned including the sense of tem- 
perature. I was once on a lawn when one 
of the company accidentally dropped a half- 
sovereign in the grass, and, after considerable 
search, nobody was successful in finding it. 
I undertook to do so blindfold within a few 
minutes. This challenge to perform what 
appeared to be a great feat naturally created 
a certain amount of interest, which turned to 
laughter when I obtained a fine garden-rake 
and proceeded to rake syste- 
matically across the lawn, while 
the company kept silence. In 
a very short time I heard the 
" chink " of metal against 
metal, and said that the coin 
would be found beside the rake 
— as it actually was. As the 
sense of sight had failed to 
discover the coin I at once 
thought that an application of 
the sense of hearing might be 
more successful. This trivial 
incident is merely given to 
illustrate the fact that, to a very large extent, 
the secret of puzzle-solving lies in common 
or garden sagacity — sometimes called low 

Finally, to call into play the reasoning 
faculties of more juvenile readers, I will give 
the puzzle of "The Purse." What is the 
greatest number of pennies that you can 
place, one at a time, in an empty purse 
that will only hold twenty ? The answer 
would appear to be twenty, but this is 

(The solutions to the puzzles contained in 
the above article will be given in the next 

2. —THE 

out the marked coin. Of course, all you do issue of The Strand Magazine.) 

by Google 

Original from 



1SS EARLE was sitting at the 
Murcester end of the London 
wire. Her left arm rested on 
the table ; her chin lay cradled 
in her hand ; and her eyes were 
glued to the crawling, moon- 
faced clock on the wall at her right-hand side. 
Up and down the long room the keys of 
i he sounders clicked and jabbered and railed. 
Backwards and forwards boys in uniforms 
hurried, carrying baskets of messages from 
clerk to clerk. To and fro a superintendent 
stalked, like a shopwalker at a sale — wanting 
only the frock-coated halhmark of the trade* 
From time to time he shouted instructions, 
or, stooping over a man's shoulder, said 
something that the din stifled a yard away. 
The great gallery was a seething whirlpool of 
noise. But its jangling, tuneless roar was 
a fit accompaniment to Florence Earle's 
thoughts. For she had something to think 
about th^t August afternoon ! 

In the bosom of her blouse the letter— ^fr 
letter — burned The laboured, printed, care- 
fully disguised characters were written on her 
heart. The words were the supreme appeal 
to her infatuation — her mental state the proof 
of that appeal's success. Once more she 
would succumb to Harry Shel ton's pleading. 
Allured, intrigued, and caught by the bank 
clerk's charm, she had consented to the secret 
engagement upon which he had laid such 
stress. He had urged that publicity would 
spoil his prospects ; the bank, he said, had 
strict, grandmotherly views, even rules, against 
improvident marriages by its staff. They 
must wait — wait until his talents, forcing him 
out of the ruck, had secured him the pro- 
motion his merit made his due- Shelton's 
manner and eloquence would have convinced 
a clever woman. Small wonder that Florence 
Earle, fair-haired, fluffv, and hardly out of 

Digitized by dOOgle 

her teens, believed and trusted him. She 
had told no one ; not even her own folk. 
And for a whole year she had lived in the 
paradise of fools. Then had come the 

Two months back Harry S belt on had 
bolted — bolted with five hundred pounds of 
the bank's money/ The evening he had 
spent in rowing Florence up the long-disused 
canal, that was more beautiful than the sleepy 
Severn it fed- He had made love to her as 
only he, in her imagination! could make it ; 
had risen to heights which she, in her inex- 
perience, had believed that no man living 
could attain. The next day the town rang 
with the news of his crime and flight. 

For Florence the first weeks that followed 
Shelton's flight had been one ceaseless night- 
mare, with the same ever-recurring dream* 
She saw him captured, felt the cold clasp of 
the fetters on his wrists, endured the waiting 
in tiie cells, underwent the horror of the trial, 
heard the callous lips of the judge announce 
his sentence, and, finally, passed with him 
into the great prison where he must spend 
the best years of his life, Then, with sudden 
sharpness, had come the reaction- She 
began to believe that he had succeeded in 
evading pursuit; she even gloried in his 
cleverness ; lost, at last, all sense of his 
wrong-doing* As her pride grew, so her con- 
fidence increased to quiet certainty. When 
he was safe he would send for her He 
could not live without her. Had he not told 
her so a thousand beautiful times? 

When, at the end of seven weeks, his letter 
came it found her calm. Quite simply, the 
expected had happened. He had need of 
her — she would go. That was all "I am 
risking everything for your sake," it ran, 
" I am leaving Ix>ndon and coming to 
Murcester on Friday week by the train which 




arrives at two forty-five. Go to the boat- 
house on the canal, get out the boat, and I 
will join you there, I am penniless— so 
bring all the money you have, and all your 
valuables. We will row up to Kern hi 11 
Heath, catch a train for Birmingham, and 
then go to Southampton to take ship for 
Argentina. There we .shall be able to get 
married. Don't fail me + But I know you 
won't do that*" Then there was a post- 
script ; " I wonder how my darling will like 
me in a beard ? 

collected her trinkets, had hidden in the 
boat-house such few clothes as she could take 
from home without exciting suspicion. That 
very day, in ten minutes, as soon as the 
clock hands crawled to the hour of two, she 
would leave Mureester post-office for good 
and all Going down to the boat house she 
would see her Harry once more. 

Lost in the superb ecstasy of her day- 
dream, she dwelt now in a fairyland of her 
own making. She was a thousand miles 
away from her surroundings. She did not 


Shelton had known her only too well. 
Not Tor a moment did she hesitate. She 
had drawn all her money from the savings 
|bank — the whole of her aunt's legacy of two 
hundred pounds, the nest-egg about which 
Shelton had so often rallied her, She had 

Vol. xjLxviii. — 12 p 


hear the superintendent approaching ; nor 
did she know that he stood beside her in 
silence for a while. But when he put his 
hand lightly on her shoulder she leapt from 
her seat with a crv of fear. " Oh, how you 

startled ^ffcgffi&n 



The man stared at her frightened face. 
The cheeks were drawn, there were lines 
about the mouth, the eyes were eloquent of 
want of sleep. He shook his head. 

" You want a rest, Miss Earle," he said, 
kindly. " You'd better take some sick leave, 
I'm thinking." 

u Oh, it's nothing," she brought out, 
hastily. " There's nothing the matter with 
me, really. It's only toothache that has 
kept me from sleeping lately. I shall be all 
right in a day or two. As there was a lull I 
thought I'd rest my face a little, and was half 
asleep when you came. That's why you 
startled me so." Then, before he could say 
anything, she went on, quickly, " It's curious 
how slack the work is on the London wire 
to-day ! " 

The words were hardly out of her mouth 
when the key before her began to click its 
contradiction. M.R., M.R., it called. (M.R. 
is the code for Murcester.) The superin- 
tendent laughed. "They mean to give you 
something to do now," he said. " But take 
my advice, and a little sick leave to cap it ! " 
He patted her shoulder with his kind, fat 
hand, swung his heavy body slowly round, 
and began his sentry-like parade again. 

Florence Earle took up her pencil, gave 
the answering signal, and began to take down 
the message. The operator at the London 
end was in a hurry and it came at lightning 
speed— so fast that, writing with mechanical 
precision, it was not until all of it was on 
the flimsy pink paper that she realized the 
purport of the words. Then, reading it over 
to see that it made sense, the full horror of 
what she saw mastered her and made her its 
own. With a hand on her pulsing, hammer- 
ing heart, her silent lips mouthed the written 
words. It was as if she had signed and 
sealed the death-warrant of the man she 
loved. This was what the message said : — 

"Chief Constable, Murcester. — Shelton 
believed to be on board London train 
due Murcester at two forty -five. — Travers, 

She sat staring before her for three price- 
less minutes, incapable of movement, utterly 
broken and crushed. Then the revulsion 
came, driving her into activity. Her brain 
galloped. A dozen useless plans had birth 
and death in vain. Suddenly, with a swift 
intaking of her breath, she seized the pad 
before her. Off it she ripped the two copies 
of the horrible message, thrust the carbon 
paper under the next page, and wrote 
the telegram afresh. But instead of two 
forty-five she put five forty-five. She flung 

the altered forms into a wicker basket at her 
side. A watchful messenger hastened up. 
He put them into a little pouch, set it in a 
pneumatic tube, and pulled a lever. The 
pouch went hurtling down to the delivery- 
room below. Five minutes later one of the 
copies would be in the chief constable's 

Florence Earle rose to her feet, walked 
across to the attendance-ljook, signed off 
duty, and went out of the door into the cloak- 
room immediately. A fine colour had 
conquered her pallor ; a happy smile hid the 
tiredness of her eyes. She looked radiant, 
positively radiant, as she passed. 

As she hurried through the narrow streets 
of the cathedral city she was the happiest 
woman alive. She was proud of her artifice ; 
she gloried in the quick alertness of her 
scheme. But above all she was glad because 
she was no longer a useless, passive onlooker. 
She was an accomplice, she had helped 
Harry, she had done something which 
counted — something for which he would be 
grateful all the years of his life. Her strategy, 
and hers alone, had saved him. When the 
detectives met the slow train at a quarter to 
six she and Shelton would be speeding away 
in the opposite direction, winning on to the 
sea and the haven beyond. Oh, she had 
saved him — she had been of use ! Without 
her . . . He would never, never forget the 
greatness of his debt 

She came hot-foot to the little stile at the 
side of the country road. Beyond it lay the 
path to the clump of beeches and the tiny 
boat-house where his skiff swung. It was 
solitary as ever; there was no sign of life 
about the deserted, long-disused canal. 

She put the key into the door of the 
tumble-down boat-house, turned it, and went 
in. Out of a locker she took a little wicker 
basket. It held the few of her treasures that 
she had been able to bring without risk. 
From the bosom of her blouse she drew an 
envelope. It covered Shelton's letter and a 
number of folded bank-notes. Carefully she 
put it back again, reassured. Then she sat 
down on the locker and took her watch 
from her waistbelt. It was now nearly three. 
Harry would be with her almost any minute. 
With a sudden gasp of recollection, she 
snatched at the basket, set it on her knee, 
dived into it, and drew out a hand-glass. 
Her hair rebelled distractingly ; impatience 
helped it to be stubborn. Her fingers were 
all thumbs ; she could do nothing with 
them. Even when her hair was something 
like decent therejjY^lefiotber troubles. H^r 




blouse had lost a button at the 
back, Harry would notice it 
at once. He always hated 
untidiness. And r gracious 
heavens, the band of her skirt 
showed I The hurried walk 
had left her a bundle of untidi- 
ness. It took her a quarter of 
an hour to remedy all these 
trivial but important things, 
Even then she was only half 
satisfied. But impatience soon 
put everything else out of mind. 
For Shelton, long overdue, had 
not come- 

The fifteen minutes grew to 
thirty, then won on to forty- 
five, and still there was no sign 
of him. She began to wonder 
if she had made a mistake. 
Her eager eyes searched the 
letter once more. No ; he 
had said Friday* There was 
no mistake. Her nightmare 
began again, for all her wake- 

She ga$e his absence every 
cause but capture. That she 
absolutely refused to believe 
in, even to think of. He was 
too smart, too clever, too 
dexterous. He had thought it 
wise not to leave his hiding- 
place just yet. Yes; that 
must be it. To - morrow 
another letter would reach her, 
explaining everything* After 
all, it didn't matter, She had 
endured eight lung weeks. 
She could afford to wait a 
little longer for her life's happiness. But 
oh ! she had so wanted to see him, to feel 
herself held in his arms once more, to hear 
him call her all the old endearing names 
again. There in the darkness of the boat- 
house she wept out her disappointment, 
drawing relief from her tears, Then she 
forced herself into action. She must do 
nothing to day which could by any chance 
jeopardize to-morrow, 

She looked at her watch. It was after 
four. She was on duty at five. Though she 
had never meant to go back again, it was now 
the only thing to do. So she thrust the 
wicker basket into the locker, hurried 
out, and fastened the door. Breathless, 
half dead with disappointment and fatigue, 
she reached the post-office a couple of 
minutes before five. She passed into the 



$r \ 

JL v 


**P \ 


B^^SB "^.- \& B3 


w . + 



telegraph gallery and sat down at her 
appointed place. 

Fate was kind to her there, The telegrams 
rolled in ; a flood of Press work came. For 
nearly three hours she sat writing up news at 
express speed. A few minutes before eight 
there was a lull Immediately her imagina- 
tion, so long checked, began to riot. Then, 
tired out with work and worry, for the first 
time for weeks she lost courage. Her belief 
in Shelton's successful escape oozed out. She 
had no heart to hope. Depression, heavy 
and all obsessing, gripped and held. 

Suddenly (she had been resting her head 
on her hand) she sat bolt upright and listened. 
From far away the sound of shouting voices 
seemed to be carried along the street. The 
noise came closer, gathered strength, grew 
something like distinct Outside, the road- 


9 2 


way seemed alive, The pavements rang with 
the tread of running feet. The newsboys 
were shouting under the very windows now. 
They shouted all together and one cry mixed 
with another, indistinguishable still Then, 
clear and shrill above them all, a voice came 
up to Florence as she sat: — 

"Arrest of Harry Slid ton ! Capture of 
the bank thief ! Speshul ! Speshul edition ! " 

Duty, discipline, the habit of years, went 
from Florence in a (lash. She tore across 
the long gallery, flew down the stone stairs, 
terror driving her with whips of fear. Out 
into the street she dashed, flung a boy a coin, 
snatched a still damp sheet from his h^nd. 
Every letter of the great headlines stabbed 
her heart. " Clever Capture by Belboro 
Detectives ! Arrest of the Missing Bank 
Clerk ! n These 
words, in huge, 
leaded t y p e t 
dominated the 
first page. 

staggered ; then 
nerved herself to 
read on. 

"Harry Shel- 
ton, the missing 
bank clerk, was 
arrested at Mur- 
cester this after- 

This after- 
noon ? Then he 
had come after 
all. And she had 
failed him. She 
had made some 
awful mistake. It 
was her fault 
She had misread 
his letter Be- 
side herself with 
despair, she read 
on to know the 
truth. But the 
worst was yet to 

" The capture was effected on Shelton's 
arrival by the five forty-five train this after- 
noon. From a statement made to us by the 
guard, we understand that he left London by 
the express due at two forty- five, but for some 
reason or other (probably suspecting that he 
had been watched at Padding ton) he changed 
into the slow train at Oxford, due here three 
hours later The detectives were waiting for 
him on the platform/ 3 

Florence Earle stumbled forward with half- 
shut eyes. Her trembling, outstretched 
hands still held the paper close. She was 
hatless in the roadway ; a gathering, curious 
crowd watched her as she went. There was 
a buzzing in her ears. Her head shook, her 
lips twitched. No sense of time and place 

remained. She 
only knew he 
was caught, and 
that it was her 
fault, Suddenly 
- — perhaps be- 
cause at times of 
greatest stress 
the human mind 
falls back on 
too tired to find 
new phrases for 
its grief — she 
lifted up her 
head, stared up- 
wards, and 
whispered dullv, 
"All is lost!" 
Then she col- 
lapsed in a 

But she was 
wrong. All was 
not lost Fate, 
Kismet, or what 
you will, had 
Florence Earle 
was saved. 

COLl.Al'SLli IN A I1KAI 1 . 1 


by Google 

Original from 


A Compendium of Short Articles* 

IX, — How a Bat Goes to Sleep. 

Written and Illustrated by John J. Ward. 

IN the natural order of things, the little, 
* long eared creature should not have com- 
menced its rapid flittings over and around the 
pool, and under the trees, until twilight had 
been completely displaced by darkness ; for, 
unlike some of its relatives, which fly only 
at dusk and dawn, this bat species loves the 
blackness and stillness of the night, and con- 
sequently it flies late. 

On this particular afternoon in mid-May, 
however, the individual in question appeared 
between three and four o'clock, in bright 

The fact was, I think, that the few cold 
and frosty nights had prevented it from 
getting abroad, or, what is more probable, 


had made its insect prey so scarce that it had 
gone to bed hungry, and, being an extremely 
voracious little creature, rather than have 
another night without supper it had turned out 
in the sunlight where food would be certain. 
This fact has enabled me, by being ready 
with a camera when the little creature settled 
to resfagain, to place before the . readers 
of The Strand Magazine some pictures 
illustrating'how carefully this, the prettiest of 
all British bats, protects its enormous and 
delicate ears when it settles down to sleep, by 
placing them under its wings. These photo- 
graphs show this action, I have every reason 

Digitized by LiOOQ IC 

to believe, for absolutely the first time, and 
the descriptions underneath them make the 
process perfectly clear. 

Probably no animal that the world has 
seen has possessed proportionately larger ears 
than those of the long-eared bat, for they are 
little inferior in length to the head and body- 
Since all structures in the anatomy of an 
animal serve some function in their economy, 
the question arises : What advantage does 
this species of bat derive from the possession 
of such enormous ears? 

I have previously stated that the bat 
normally seeks its insect prey late at night, 
but we have also learned that it occasionally 
feeds during daylight. It is obvious, there- 


fore, that, unlike owls, moths, and similar 
nocturnal animals, it is not dazed by the 
light of day; indeed, its small eyes point to 
the fact that its powers of sight are very in- 
efficient, and experiments have shown this to 
be the case. 

An Italian physiologist named Spallanzani 
was the first to investigate in this direction* 
He took bats of the long eared and other 
species, and glued over their eyes bits of 
leather, completely blinding them; in some 
cases, too, the eyes were entirely destroyed* 
These cruel experiments led to the discovery 
that, whg^jrff^^|rff^^ they could without 





hesitation fly along wind- 
ing caverns, avoiding 
branches, cords, and 
other objects placed to 
obstruct them r even dart- 
ing through a small hole 
in a curtain, and readily 
find their way back to 
t h c i r d wel 1 ing holes. 

These experiments 
have since been con- 
firmed by other observers. 
There is, therefore, some 
reason to suppose that it 
is not the sense of sight 
which directs the long- 
eared bat to the small 
insects which serve it as 


fine and high-pitched notes even though it 
may screech with terror while held in the 
hand. Since, then, it possesses a voice 
almost inaudible to human ears, but which 
doubtless its mate can hear from a distance, 
we may reasonably conclude that it is able to 
hear delicate sounds ; and, by analogy, if 
the human ear can detect the sound of a 
bird flying close by, that the long-eared bat 
may likewise distinguish the flight of a moth 
or even a gnat, Also, there is the further 
evidence in the fact— which the photographs 
distinctly show— that when its feeding is 
done it folds up its delicate ears and puts 
them away— a most extraordinary action, yet 
a very natural one if the animal has to 
depend on these organs for its livelihood. 
Furthermore, it selects the stillness of the 
night for its wanderings abroad, when other 
bat species have largely ceased flight, prob- 
ably that it may the 
more readily detect the 
almost silent movements 
of its quarry, and so 
pursue them in their 

These huge ears of 
the long-eared bat, then, 
point to the fact of an 
advanced evolution. 
While the night - flying 
moths have, like the 
owls, developed soft 
wings and a silent flight, 
the ears of the long- 
eared bat have kept 
pace, and evolved con- 
currently an acute sense 
of hearing. 



When the bat commences to fly it erects 
its large ears, and in flight it is continually 
twitching them about, and it is probable that 
they serve as huge ear-trumpets, enabling it 
to detect sounds that are quite beyond the 
range of the human sense of hearing. It 
therefore maybe able to hear the approach of 
a flying insect as small as a gnat, or even 
smaller ; while the movements of the disturbed 
air-currents caused by the wings of a moth of 
moderate size may be to it like the rush of a 
locomotive. It happens, too, that there is a 
little direct evidence which tends to show that 
this is the true function of these enormous 
and delicately sensitive ears, 

That the sense of hearing of this bat is 
very acute is shown by the voice of the 
animal, which is a very razor's-edge of sound, 
many people being quite unable to hear its 

Digitized by LiOOQ IC 





X-How We Tried the Daylight Saving Bill. 
By Henrv Franklin, 

IT is the twenty-fifth of April, and, as I 
write, the clock points to nine. Breakfast 
is cleared away, the children are in their 
schoolroom at lessons, and in consequence, 
except for the pleasant noise of the sea 
breaking on the beach, there is quiet in our 
remote colony* At twelve, as it is a very 
warm morning, we shall make up a party bold 
enough to defy the proverbial wisdom, " Who 
bathes in May (or earlier) shall be laid in 
clay!" and refresh ourselves with a hasty dip. 
Then lunch at one o'clock, tea at five, and 
dinner at seven* Well, you will say, all this 
sounds very ordinary ■ why trouble to speak 
of it? Just for this one reason: we are 
u Daylight Savers." We 
shall have our dinner at 
seven o'clock, and after- 
wards we shall probably 
stroll about for an hour, 
pottering in our gardens or 
watching the sunset over 
the moor, For, you see, 
although the sun sets to- 
day at ten minutes past 
seven, and we don't finish 
dinner till eight, our clocks, 
as well as we, are early day- 
light converts, and are all 
put forward an hour. When 
dinner is over and they 
point to eight o'clock, it will " really " (as we 
still have to say) be seven; and so, instead 
of drawing the curtains, as you do, and lazing 
about indoors, we shall still enjoy another 
hour of health ~ giving sunshine and fresh 

We call ourselves a colony, which, indeed, 
we practically are. And this colony is made 
up of three households, all related. One happy 
day we heard that a row of coastguards 1 cot- 
tages, with which we were well acquainted, 
was about to be vacated, Six miles from a rail- 
way station, a hundred miles from London, 
on the edge of a glorious moor, where the 
gorse in spring and summer and the long 
waves of purple heather later in the year 
make a vision of beauty absolutely enchant- 
ing; within a stone's throw of the yellow 
cliffs, and with miles of lonely beach 
such as is hard to find nowadays— there 
stood the long row of cottages, outwardly 
unattractive it ts true, but cosy within and 
Stoutly built to withstand the winter stones. 

" An ideal spot ! " was our verdict. " What 
a perfect place for doing what we like in ! " 
The business part of the project was easily 
negotiated ; we were soon installed, and here 
we are, for the second year in succession, 
arranging our time in accordance with the 
proposals of the Daylight Saving Bill 

When we started the experiment last year 
we wondered why we had never had the 
sense to think of it before. But we are only 
amateurs at "open-air fads," as our friends 
call them, not originators ; and just as one 
of our colony discovered, by accident, the 
joys of "haystack bedrooms" (described in 
The Strand Magazine for July, 1904), so 


did we, after listening carelessly to the vague 
talk of Mr, Willett's proposal, gradually drift 
into this experiment. At first we followed 
the public discussion of the project with 
amusement only, but by degrees we got inter- 
ested ; the colony took sides, and for weeks 
we popped in and out of each other's cottages, 
firing off "pros "and "cons" until finally it 
was agreed that the " pros n had the advan- 
tage, and we found ourselves one fine morning 
getting up at six-thirty instead of seven- 
thirty — we had passed a Daylight Saving 
Bill on our own account! I myself was 
whole-heartedly with the " pros," and I have 
still to hear a good reason for lying in bed 
when the sun is shining, and then sitting up 
late with the aid of artificial light. If there 
are good reasons for special trades, we find 
there are none that apply to us out here, 
and we have never had occasion to regret 
our adoption of Mr Willett's inspired common 

Last year, through sheer lack of initiative, 





possibly with the idea of not completely 
losing touch with the actual world, we kept 
our clocks according to Greenwich time ; 
this year, however, we decided to do the 
thing thoroughly, and keep no reminders of 
the old style of sunlight wasting. The change 
naturally led to a few muddles, especially on 
the part of the servants, who, after receiving 
instructions, would ask, anxiously, (1 Do you 
mean real time or daylight time?" "Daylight 
time/* Then they would profess to be clear 
on the point, and go away, evidently thought- 
ful, and the results were sometimes laughable* 

On one occasion, 
in the absence of the 
authorities, the child- 
yen were given their 
tea — their last meal 
for the day —at three 
( M daylight" time) 
instead of five ! On 
another occasion my 
wife suddenly started 
laughing in the 
middle of dinner for 
no apparent reason 
— we were having 
dinner at five o'clock! 
And we had had tea 
at three ! So we, 
too, were not im- 
peccable. But this 
was sheer heedless- 
ness, and with the 
clocks put forward an 
hour, and the servants 
instructed that they 
are to keep to their 
old time-tables, no- 
thing of the sort has 
happened since. Of 
course our neigh- 
bouts (there are none 
nearer than a mile 
and a half) profess to 

think us cranks, and the wit of the village 
has been exhausted in finding a title for us — 
11 The Early Closing People ! "—so that now 
we know the worst 

Heads of households ask us in amazement, 
" But how do you manage to get your 
servants up an hour earlier ? " VVhat an 
extraordinary question ! They don't get up 
earlier. As a matter of fact, the time at 
which you rise is only early or late in relation 
to the time at which you go to bed. Time, 
as we try to explain to our wondering friends, 
is not something fixed and immutable, but a 
purely arbitrary division of our days accepted 

Digitized by C^OOglC 

for social convenience; so that if we all 
agree to call six o'clock in the morning seven 
o'clock, and so on through the twenty-four 
hours, they need fear no terrible universal 
dislocation and confusion. As Mr Willett 
has been trying to make us understand, the 
one and only result is that we save daylight. 
And so, with our servants as \\%\\ as our- 
selves, because we go to bed an hour earlier 
than we used to, by getting up an hour before 
our accustomed time we do not really get up 
earlier, hut, as regards ourselves only, we get 
up at exactly the same time ! 

June and July 
are the daylight 
months par excellence^ 
and what a glorious 
feast of sunshine and 
open air we had 
during these two 
months last year ! I 
dare say the reform 
rather developed into 
a craze. with a few of 
us, for we made a 
point of doing en- 
tirely without artificial 
light for as long as 
we possibly could. 
My own record was 
a clear six weeks with- 
out using lamp or 
candle, and during 
all that time I don't 
suppose we had more 
than a dozen meals 
within doors, and 
then only on account 
of rain. We lived 
out of doors till ten 
o'clock every day (re 
formed time), and up 
to this hour it was 
no uncommon thing 
to see some of us at 
tennis or croquet, while others were reading, 
doing needlework, or playing whist And 
how healthy we got ! If you are no longer 
young, try to remember the eagerness and 
freshness of your early rising at the age of 
seven, and you will get some idea of the 
effect on us of our daylight saving, 

In calculating our gains you must bear in 
mind that these do not consist merely in an 
added hour of daylight, nor an added hour 
of sunlight, but sometimes the only hour of 
sunlight, for so frequently this extra early 
hour is the only hours sunshine during the 
day. Everybody rnusi have noticed how 





common a thing it is during bad weather for 
the rising sun to have its own way with the 
clouds for a few hours, only to be obscured 
and lost to us again about nine o'clock ; 
you are cheated with the promise of a fine 
day, and yon get nothing but rain. This 
is where we score. Last summer, as day- 
light wasters, we should have passed some 
dozens of days without a glint of sunshine, 
but as daylight savers this very rarely hap- 
pened to us. The sun in June and July is up 
before four o'clock \ we rise at five or six, 
have our morning's swim, and sharp at seven 
our three break fast -tables are full up. So by 
nine o'clock we have had a good dose of sun 
and fresh air, and, let the weather then do its 
worst, it is no great hardship to os, for we are 
already " bucked up " for the day, 

This year we began again at the end of 
March. We refrained from starting earlier 
out of consideration for the servants, who, I 
am told, get up an hour and a half before we 
do, Why their hour of rising should be so 
much before ours a mere man may not 
venture to explain. Personally, I think that 
thirty minutes should be ample time in which 
to light a couple 
of fires and pre- 
pare a simple 
English break- 
fast. But these 
matters are 
not "in our 
sphere/' and, 
with respectful 
surprise, I leave 
them severely 
alone- As it 
was, I find that 
when we started 
4l daylighting" 
this year the 
servants got up 
forty minutes 
before sunrise ; 
and I believe 
that all normal 
persons are 
agreed that to 
get up before 
the fllin — that 
is, as a regular 
thing — is not 

Among the 


many objections to the Daylight Saving 
Bill is one I cannot answer t because the 
objectors are not yet reasonable human 
beings ; the children are firmly convinced 
that the whole thing is only a trick on the 
part of their natural enemies, the grown-ups, 
to get them to bed an hour earlier! I am 
sorry, but they have a grievance, and they 
refer bitterly to our innovation as " that 
horrid old daylight ! " 

I like to hear them shouting over the moor 
as I sit writing in my open air hut on the 
clifFs edge, but for all that I shall resist any 
attempt to restore the hour they believe we 
have filched from them, The results of our 
experiment have been so good that none of 
the grown-ups would now care to abandon 
the scheme, for, while we have found that 
the difference in the working of our house- 
holds has been practically nil, there has 
been a distinct addition to our realization of 
summer and to the enjoyment we get from 
the freshness and sunshine of that best part 
of the year* 

And, should the wisdom of the nation 
Parliament assembled decide on 

the general 
adoption of Mr. 
Willett's sug- 
gestions, the 
first thing I 
should do next 
spring would 
be to propose 
yet another 
private Daylight 
Saving Bill 
for our own 
colony, to apply 
to the months 
of June, July, 
and August, so 
that during 
these three 
months we 
should gain 
two hours a 
day instead of 
one. That 
would mean a 
further gain of 
roughly one 
hundred hours 
of sunlight a 
year ! 


VoL MnviiL— 13. 

by Google 

Original from 



XL— M His Majesty" Under the Microscope, 

Written and Illustrated by James Scott, 

I BE LI EVE all readers will be willing to 
acknowledge that as a specimen of en- 
graving a penny postage-stamp is a fine 

piece of work- A mere superficial glance 

proves that it is a most excellent portrait, 

and is shaded with 

exceptional neatness. 

Indeed, I think that 

the workmen who 

make the dies from 

which it is printed 

are regarded as highly 

skilful. Now, I am 

repeatedly drumming 

into people's ears that 

minute Nature, when 

magnified, discloses 

wonderful symmetry 

of design and detail. 

It may not be in- 
opportune, therefore, 

to inspect, as a con- 
trast, this example of 

man's handiwork- I 

gum a postage-stamp 

to a slip of glass and 


In every case the accompanying diagrams 

depict the specified portions of the stamp, as 

seen through magnified pinholes. I made 

the punctures with a fairly large pin, an inch 

and three-quarters long. 

Most appropriately, the King's "crown" 

(Fig. i) deserves first place. This conforms 


to the light patch above the forehead and 
near the hair, The upper white line in the 
diagram is really the extreme top of the 
head, and the five lines are some of the 
delicate shading to be seen with the naked 


The nose (Fig. 3) 
thus magnified might 
be aptly compared 
with a largetoothed 
comb and portions of 
some rough indefin- 
able figuring. About 
half of it is displayed, 
the curve of the nostril 
being represented at 
the right-hand side. 
Bearing in mind how 
neat and compact the 
actual stamp appears, 
it is strange that there 
is, in fact, a goodly 
space between the 
nose and the mous- 
tache. When mag- 
nified to the pro- 
portions I show, the 
moustache is completely outside the range 
of view. 

The diagram of the cheek of His Majesty 
(Fig. 3) depicts a small area of that part of 
the face, just where the hair curls about 
slightly in front and below the ear. As will 
be seen, the coarseness of this actually fine 



sy Google 

a"-l-— TME CHEEK. 
n gin at from 





bit of work is such that the figuring could 
very well be labelled, " A heap of stories." 

The major part of the space occupied by 
the ear is scarcely more than a dark patch ; but 
the lobe t or section corresponding with that 
which ladles pierce for the accommodation 
of their ear-rings, is more picturesque, as a 
reference to the diagram (Fig. 4) will explain. 

The surroundings of the profile are also 
remarkable when seen under microscopical 
conditions. Let the reader closely examine 
any penny postage-stamp he likes, and then 
tell us whether the simple straight line which 
extends right round it as a border is broken 
or disturbed at any point. It is almost 
certain that the reply will be "No." Well, 
then, let us pass this line beneath the instru- 


ment. All looks clear as possible until we 
reach the exact middle of the line at the 
top, just above the crown. There the line, 
instead of seeming quite flush, is raised up 
for a distance equal to half its width, and 
embraces a fraction of the crown, Usually one 
of the holes by which stamps are enabled \q 
be torn off occurs at this spot, and is indi- 
cated at the top of the diagram (Fig, 5), where 
a little of the illustration is omitted. The 
circle below this phase! containing the dark 
crescent, is the large jewel in the middle of 
the crown, right above the Maltese cross. 
At each side of it is a smaller jewel — one 
nearly square in outline, though obviously 
intended to be spherical I suppose these 
things depict pearls; but how coarse they are 1 




Ki;* 7>— T11E ] 

Urigmal fro 




If we need a good specimen of the 
extreme faultiness of man's finest handi- 
work we cannot do better than magnify the 
Maltese cross. This can be seen in bulk 
with the naked eye, occupying the exact 
centre of the design of the crown. I have 
very carefully reproduced this feature in the 
diagram (Fig. 6). Dots which are intended to 
be in the middles of the respective arms of 
the cross are far from their positions, the 

upper one being laughingly so. The figuring 
at the sides of the central boss of the cross 
is woefully at variance. One side is quite 
different from the other. 

The bow at the bottom of the stamp affords 
a final curiosity (Fig. 7). Its knot, when 
enlarged, is seen to conform with the illus- 
tration, which might be described as some 
strange hand or paw, or a peculiar kind of 
plant ; in fact, anything except what it is. 

XII— How to Make a Model Glider. 

AT the present moment, when so much 
interest has been aroused in the science 
of aeronautics by the recent Aero Exhi- 
bition at Olympia and the performances of 
the Brothers Wright and others, readers may 
be interested in a method of making with a 
minimum of trouble a small model glider, 
which, despite its diminutive size, will fly in a 
most realistic fashion when sent from the hand 
in an ordinary room or hall. The materials 
required are nothing more than a small sheet 
of paper and a piece of sealing-wax. 

The paper used should be fairly stiff — 
ordinary note-paper will answer perfectly — 
and, with a 
knife or pair of 
scissors, a piece 
should be cut 
out roughly 
bird-like in 
shape, taking 
care that the 
dimensions of 
each wing are 
equal. The out- 
line here shows a shape which the writer has 
found to give very good results, but the size 
should be about double — />., six inches from 
tip to tip and one inch wide at the centre. It 
must, however, be understood that models 
can be made in many other shapes and sizes 
besides this one — for their powers of flight 
do not depend so much on their dimensions 
as on the important factors of the weight that 
is carried and the amount of elevation of the 

It will be noticed that if the piece of paper 
cut out as above indicated be now thrown 
from the hand, it turns over and over and 
sinks slowly to the ground. It has no more 
stability than would be possessed by (sup- 
posing such a thing were possible) a bird 
without a body. To supply this necessary 
stability we must add weight to the model, 
and applying sealing-wax to it forms a con- 

venient way of doing this. The oval-shaped 
space in the diagram shows the position it 
should occupy, and gives a very rough idea 
of the amount necessary for a paper model 
of this size; but the right quantity can, of 
course, only be determined by actual tests. 
It should be distributed as equally as pos- 
sible on each side of the straight line indi- 
cating the centre of the model. Too little 
weight makes the model sway from side to 
side in the air and take an erratic course ; too 
much diminishes its buoyancy and causes it 
to drop too quickly. 

The only thing that now remains to be 

done is the ele- 


by K: 



vation of the 
wing-tips. The 
exact amount 
that these are 
raised does not 
seem to matter 
very much, but 
it is of the 
greatest import- 
ance that both 
tips should be 
elevated to the same extent. It is extra- 
ordinary how sensitive the model is to any 
slight variation between them. This great 
sensitiveness renders it a matter of some 
difficulty to obtain perfectly straight flights, as 
the models generally sweep round in a long 
curve, owing to one tip being slightly less 
elevated than the other. And even when the 
tips are set just right, and one or two straight 
flights have been made, it is probable that, if 
one of the tips happens to come in contact 
with the wall or an article of furniture, the 
shock of the collision will slightly upset the 
balance and render fresh adjustments neces- 
sary. In the actual operation of elevating the 
tips the model should be held pointing away 
from you and with the waxed side underneath, 
and then, starting from about the points X in 
the diagram, each wing in turn should be gently 
twisted up between thumb and forefinger. 




It may be added that probably the model's 
powers of flight will be considerably improved 
by very slightly bending the front edge down- 
ward This gives a better cutting edge and 
seems to impart an extra rigidity to the paper. 

The model may now be held at the centre 
between thumb and finger at about the level 
of the eye (sealing-wax underneath and wing- 
tips pointing up and towards you) and thrown 
— or, rather, launched — gently and with as 
little jerk as possible ; if the model is thrown 
too hard — a likely error at first — it will 
probably swoop up in the air and descend 
again rather sharply, pursuing a switchback 
course, and so considerably decreasing the 
extent of its flight. It ought to sail perfectly 
evenly, gradually dropping, and with the 
wing-tips slightly quivering. There is, no 
doubt, a certain knack in throwing the model, 
but it is easily acquired. Care should be taken 
to hold it level and with the centre line point- 
ing in the desired direction. It will probably 
be found that at the first trial the model curves 
either to the right or the left, owing to the wing- 
tips, as mentioned above, not being quite 
equally elevated. If this should be the case 
and the model curves, say, to the left, the 
right tip should be elevated or the left one 
depressed, and if to the right the operation 
should be reversed. It has been pointed out 
that the models are extremely sensitive at the 
wing-tips, and therefore only a very slight 
alteration in the elevation of these should 
be required. Speaking generally, when an 
adjustment becomes necessary it is better 
to raise a wing-tip than to lower it, as it 
may be taken for granted that the paper 
has a natural tendency to resume its original 

If, in spite of repeated adjustments, the 
model persists in curving in one direction 
and also behaves erratically, the cause is 
probably that one of the wings is hanging 
down from the centre, or that a door or 
window is open and a current of air is affect- 
ing the model's equilibrium. A model so 
small as the one we are discussing, and made 
of so flimsy a substance as paper, will only 
give good results in a room or hall where the 
air is perfectly still. A point, by the way, that 
may be noted with regard to the model is 
that if it is dropped upside down it will 
recover itself before it reaches the ground 
and glide for a short distance. 

A model made as above described, carry- 
ing a fairly correct weight and having the 
wing-tips properly elevated, ought not to 
drop in a gradient of more than about one in 
twelve, so that a person of average height 

Digitized by G 

should be able to make it glide twenty yards 
or more. And though this distance is not a 
very considerable one, yet the sight of this 
piece of paper skimming steadily and rapidly 
through the air, and seeming almost to 
controvert the law of gravity, is one that 
fascinates the writer. Apart from this, many 
points regarding the flight of birds may be 
elucidated from the study of such models. 
A soaring rook or gliding seagull is regarded 
with a new interest, as with wings outspread 
it sails through the air, and you notice how 
(when near ground, at any rate) it is con- 
stantly moving the upturned tips of its wings 
to and fro to compensate for the effect 
of the different currents it meets with, 
and realize the reason for this when you 
remember the sensitiveness of the model. 
Again, it will be understood how it is 
that some birds, like the lapwing or com- 
mon plover, rise easily from the ground, 
but cannot glide more than a few feet, while 
birds that glide a good deal, such as rooks, 
gulls, or herons, have to exert much more 
effort to enable them to ascend from off the 
ground. This is easily explainable by the 
fact that the lapwing's wing-surface is so 
large compared with the weight of its body 
that its balance is unstable unless it flaps 
constantly, just in the same way that the 
model behaves in an erratic manner if an 
insufficient amount of wax is applied ; while, 
on the other hand, the gulls and rooks, whose 
extra amount of weight enables them to easily 
retain their balance, find it a matter of seme 
little difficulty to raise this weight from the 
ground. In fact, it is said that the albatross, 
which can follow a ship for days with scarcely 
a flap of its wings, cannot rise from the ground 
at all unless it faces a fairly strong wind. 

Several other points of interest to the 
student of flight, which it is unnecessary to 
enumerate here, may be deduced from the 
observation of these little models. 

It has been said that the small paper 
models above described can only be used 
indoors ; but it is a perfectly simple matter 
to construct on the same lines larger ones 
from cardboard or any other suitable material, 
and these, if thrown from a cliff or high 
building on a reasonably calm day, will travel 
quite a long distance. It will be evident that 
a doubling, for example, of the linear di- 
mensions of the model demands much more 
than twice the previous amount of weight, 
which depends, of course, on the number of 
square inches of wing-surface. With larger 
models such weight is best supplied by a 
small piece of sheet-lead. 

L| 1 1 I ll I I I -• I 1 1 




OR five minutes the telephone- 
bell had been ringing as hard 
as it could ring in the office of 
the railway station at West- 
cote, and every minute Mike 
Flannery was getting madder. 
He glared at the telephone, and he was so 
mad that for two pins he would have taken 
down the receiver and said something. 

" Number seventy-six don't answer," said 
the telephone girl, sweetly, to the party on 
the other end of the wire. " Shall I ring 'em 
again ? " 

Mrs. Madden straightened up and her face 
hardened. She glared at her telephone. 

44 You ring until he does answer!" she 
snapped. "If that man hasn't time to 

attend to bus " 

When the bell again began its irritating, 
maddening jingle, Mike Flannery was not in. 
He was out on the platform welcoming the 
train from the city, and the guard in the car 
was dumping packages on to the big truck. 
He shoved two trunks and a laundry hamper 
off the car and chucked a coil of lead pipe 
after them, and handed Mike Flannery care- 
fully a cylindrical pasteboard box with six 
" Handle with Great Care " labels on it. 
Then he passed out three crates of lettuce 
and a bicycle wheel, two automobile tyres, 
and a chair. 

" Got a calf here for you, Mike," he said. 
Calves may be sent in two ways, and this 
one had been sent in the uncrated way. It 
costs more to send a calf uncrated, but some 
folks are fond of sending them that way. It 
is less trouble ; no bother of making a crate ; 
no worry of getting the calf into the crate. 
All the sender has to do is to take the calf 
to the station, pay the proper charges, take 
a receipt, and go home. And it is fine for 
the consignee. No bother peeling the crate 
off the calf ; consignee sits at home ; up 
comes the porter and hands the end of the 
rope to the consignee. " Here's yer calf," 
he says ; and all the consignee has to do is 
to turn the calf loose in the back yard, and 
there you are ! It saves the sender and the 
consignee all trouble. The porter has that. 

" Shove th' crate awnto th' truck," said 

by Google 

"It ain't crated," said the guard; "it's 
loose. Climb in and give a hand with 

When they put hand to him the calf yelled 
for mother and braced his feet, and the guard 
urged haste. It is a bad job, getting a good- 
sized calf to step out of a side door on to a 
truck, and a truck is a bad thing for a calf to 
stand on, anyway ; so they led him down by 
pushing from behind, and he landed on the 
platform with a sawed-off wail that sounded 
like " Ma-a-a-wawk ! " 

And all the time the telephone-bell was 

Flannery tied the calfs halter to the rear 
end of the truck, and went to the front end 
and took hold of the iron handle and pulled. 
Behind him was the full passenger list of the 
train, grinning, and ahead of him was the 
telephone-bell, ringing. Was he mad? He 
was so mad that when he gave the truck a 
jerk the calf made the trip across the platform 
into the office in two leaps ! Two leaps, and 
then stood dazed and astonished. He was 
so dazed he didn't even know the halter had 
broken. He just stood there like a silly calf. 
But Flannery didn't ! 

Flannery did not even look at the calf. 
He slammed the way-bills on his desk and 
made one jump for the telephone. It was 
then that the calf looked down to see what 
was the matter with his feet. He was 
hobbled. Through the lid of the cylin- 
drical box that bore the labels, "Handle 
with Great Care," both fore-feet of the calf 
had gone. 

" Mother ! Mother ! Mother ! " called the 
calf, in its soul-stirring voice. 

" Halloa ! " yelled .Flannery into the tele- 
phone. " An' phwat th' divil be ye mekkin' 

sich a Shure Oi know 'tis Saturday 

afthernoon ; an' did ye call up Mike Flannery 
fer t' tell him th' day av th' week ? ' Is ther' 
a package come fer Missus Mary Maria 
Madden?'" he mimicked angrily. "Well, 
if ye would be givin' me a minute t' look 

t'roo th' way-bills How th' divil kin 

Oi look is ther' a package, ma'am, whin ye 
kape me here wid me eye fastened awnto th' 
tellyphone? — Git away from there, ye big 
beast, ye ! " 

Original from 




Mike Flannery slammed the receiver on 
the hook and made one jump for the calf 
He put his shoulder under the chest of the 
calf and encircled its legs with one arm, and 
hefted up. With the other hand he pushed 

he ever seen a hat like this. It was a new 
hat, and a spring hat, of the season of 
1909, For a minute Flannery could not 
believe it was a hat t and then, just as he 
had decided that it was a hat, he realized 
that it was a hat no longer. 
A calf has dainty feet, with 
two toes on each fout, but 
they are out of place stand- 
ing on top of a new- 

the hat box off the calf's feet The 
telephone- bell was ringing, but Flannery 
paid no more attention to it than if it 
had been a swarm of bees* He was 
used to telephones, and he had never 
known one to get down off the wall 
and bite him. He set his teeth and 
pushed the twine off the crushed paste- 
board box and took off the lid* There 
were two holes in the lid, where the calf's 
feet had gone through. 

It was a hat Flannery took it carefully 
from the box and laid it on the end of the 
truck, and stood back and looked at it. 

" An* to-morry — an' to-morry " — he said, 
with compressed anger — u to- morry do be 
Sunday ! Shut up ! " he said to the tele- 
phone-bell "An' you shut up, too!" he 
said to the calf " An' look at ut ! Look at 
th 1 hat now, will ye? " 

It was — it had been— a tall hat, a fashionable 
hat j built on the general plan of an inverted 
coal-scuttle. It was a pale, treacle yellow, of 
dreamy, soft straw, the plaits of which began 
at the ground floor and went up and up in 
graceful spirals until they reached the plateau 
at the top. Turned upside-down it looked 
like an esoteric waste -pa per basket I have 
never seen an esoteric waste- paper basket, 
and neither had Flannery, but neither had 

Digitized by G< 




style three storey-and basement hat. The 
hat was badly smashed. The bunches of 
Spir&a multiflora and Astilhe japonica were 
jammed into the moire and telescoped with 
the yellow haircloth band. There were three 
punctures and a compound fracture and a 
whole crowd of contusions in that hat. It 
looked sick. No one ever saw a sicker- 
looking hat than that one. 

Flannery very soberly bent over and 
picked up the box. The hat had been sent 
off by "Ernestine, Artistic Millinery," but as 
Flannery read the address of the consignee 
he straightened up and gazed at the tele- 
phone with anger. The consignee was Mrs. 
Martha Mary Madden, And the telephone- 
bell was still ringing* 

11 Halloa 1 " he said, when he had taken 
the receiver down, and his voice was gentle* 
" Halloa ! Are you there, missus ? * « , 

u Would ye mind savin 1 th' worrds a bit 




slower, mum?" said Flannery, 
"Well, ain't Oi just tdlin' ye — - 
If yc'll but give me wan worrd t 

mum Shure Oi know me 

business! Well, th J same t' ye! 
Hat! Ain't Oi been tellin' ye fer 
th' last half-hour thot th 5 hat has 
came? Oi say tH hat has came} 
HAT — HAS — 

Flannery slapped 
up the receiver. He 
was mad now. 

prisint case — th' rule- 


rack. a\d looked 

"Phwy don't Oi bring th' hat up? 7 ' he 
snapped. " Will Oi mek haste, fer ther' may 
be a few changes in th' trimmin' she'll be 
wantin* t' mek? Ther 11 be changes, alt 
roight ! Mebby th ? leddy'll be disappointed 
whin she gits th' hat J w 

He looked at the telephone doubtfully. 
It was his duty to deliver the hat, and he 
would deliver the hat, but perhaps it would 
be well to just mention over the 'phone that 
a little accident had happened to the hat. 
The shock would not be so great to Mrs. 
Madden. He picked up the telephone 
directory and turned the pages. 

#i M, n he said, " K, L, M, Ma, Mac, Mad, 
Madder*, John C. Madden, 1 — 3 — 5 West- 
cote/ 1 

He put up his hand for the receiver and 
glanced back at the hat. His hand remained 
motionless in the air. The hat was gone ! 
The last bit of Astilht japonka was just dis- 
appearing into the calf's mouth ! Flannery 
let his hand fall. 

" Th' rule applyin' t ] th 1 case/' said Flannery 
slowly to himself; "th' rule thot applies t* th' 

Digitized by GOOQIC 

" He 
put up his hand and scratched 
the red thatch on top of his 
head. "Now, phwat would th' 
rule be, anny way ? " he said. 
" Hats would be hats, an' calves 
would be calves, but whin th' 
hat is aten by th 1 calf, is ut a 
hat or a calf? I wonder would 
Oi report th* hat in bad con- 
dition, or absim entoirely? Oi 

He took down the book of 
Rules and Regulations and 
turned the pages slowly. It told 
all about calves crated or un- 
crated, and it told all about hats 
shipped in wood or in paste- 
board. It told what to do if a 
consignee claimed that fruit had 
spoiled in transit, and if a 
shipment of cigars arrived with 
several cigars missing, but it did 
not tell what to do if a calf ate 
a spring hat. Books of rules 
cannot tell everything. Probably 
the man who compiled those 
rules never even imagined that 
a consignment of calf would eat 
a consignment of millinery* 

"There be no doubt th ! hat 
is in bad condition," said Flan- 
nery, with worried brows, " Ut 
stands t 1 reason thot a hat phwat 
has been at en by a calf should be in bad condi- 
tion, an* th 1 rules says t' so report whin goods 
is received in bad condition. But th' other 
wan — Rule twinty-six — says: * Whin goods be 
lost in transit or in th 1 office they shall be so 
reported by th' agint.' An' t' Flannery ut 
looks like whin a calf ates a hat th' hat is lost. 
Shure 'tis lost 1 But is ut ? Some would say 
'twas lost, hut Mike Flannery knows moighty 
well where th' hat is this blissid minute! Tis 
inth' calf. So 'tis not lost." 

He sighed. He knew there was trouble 
ahead for Flannery, whether he reported the 
hat lost or in bad condition. He turned to 
his desk. 

"If 'twas th' calf, now-, thot was lost," he 
said, complainingly, "'twould be no great 
matther, fer nobody seems chrazy over tele- 
phonin' fer th' calf, an' Oi w p ould hev plinty av 
toime t' supply another wan before 'twas 
needed fer milkln', if 'tis a cow th' beast is t' 
grow into* Annyhow, Oi could pick up a 
calf thot would do fer a day or two s until wan 
thot suited could be got, but 'tis different wid 
millinery* To-morry's th' day, an' Oi know 


AT IT." 



th' wimmin I Ther' be but wan hat in th* 
worrld thot will suit aich woman, an* th' hat 
thot suits Missus Madden is at prisint in th' 
stomach av th T red an* whoite calf yonder. 
Calves is nawthin* but livestock, but hats is 

Flannery looked at his way- bills moodily. 
Probably the company would take the value 
of the hat out of his wages, if they ever 
amounted to the value of a new spring hat. 
''One calf, uncrated, value three pounds," 
he read ; and then, turning to the next way- 
bill, he stopped with a gasp. It said, u One 
hat, boxed, value ten guineas." 

As he stared, the telephone bell began to 
ring again, and he let it ring. 

" Ten guineas ! }t said Flannery, in an awe- 
strurk whisper, "Ten -" 

He looked up at the calf reproachfully. 

11 Ten guineas! An* aten by a cheap, 
inixpenslve three-pound calf! Why, ye jin't 
no more value than th* crate av sich a hat 
should be !" 

He stopped short. Now he knew the rule 
that covered hats eaten by calves* Rule 
twenly-five said : ** When the agent be in 
doubt which rate to charge, he shall charge 
the higher " ; and when an agent is in doubt 
what to do about a hat that has been eaten 
by a calf, what should he do but deliver the 
higher-priced? Flannery dipped his pen 

London. Consignee, 
One hat, packed in a 


m ~ - 


into the purple ink and scrawled across the 
way-bill pertaining to the calf the one word 
44 Lost." .Then he wrote^ carefully in his 

- Vol , k v x viii. —14, 

±/caretuUy in J 


receipt book : " From 
Mrs, M. M. Madden, 
calf Bad condition." 

He stopped a moment to answer the ringing 

11 Shure ! shure ! " he shouted. " Oi'll be 
U Te in foive minutes ! " 

Then he took the halter of the calf in his 
left hand and tucked his receipt-book under 
his right arm, and went ouL 

Four minutes later Mrs. Madden was 
standing at her front door, her lips set, her 
eyes blazing, and a threaded needle all ready 
in her hand. Her eyes were set steadily 
toward the village, and they did not move to 
right nor to left. She was wailing for her 
hat, and she did not look at the man coming 
up the road with a red and-white calf in 
tether. She did not see him until he turned 
into the yard, and it was only when he stopped 
at her feet and held out his receipt book that 
she looked at him. 

"Sign here," said Flannery, pointing to the 
blank spot. 

"What 1" said Mrs. Madden. 
"Sign here," repeated Flannery, firmly. 
"Ain't ye th' lady thot's been tellyphonm' 
all d.iy fer her spring hat? I brung ut up 
mesilf," he said, soothingly. **Tis in th 1 
calf here/* 

11 What ! " gasped Mrs. Madden. 

"Well, ma'am," 
»*-j said Flannery, 
" O i "' m n o t 
askin' ye t' do 
nothin' more 
than Oi*d do 
mesilf. Th' 
receipt mentions 
thot th' hat is 
in bad condition. 
Th J receipt 
mentions thot 
th* hat is in th' 
calf, An* Mike 
guarantees it 
is. An' 
u s u a 1 1 }\ 
ma'am, whin 
th' company 
docs repack 
in* ut makes 
a charge fer 
ut, but seein* 
as it*s you, 
ma'am, we'll 
say nawthin 
about ut." 



Missing Detail" Pictures. 


IN our last number several pictures were 
reproduced in which, by the omission of 
an essentia] detail, the meaning became 
so obscure as to be baffling. As a clue to 
the unlocking of 
the m ystery, 
however, the key 
of one was given. 
Herewith the 
six other *! miss- 
ing details " are 

In the realms 
of domesticity 
what more enter- 
taining sight or 
embarrassing ex- 
perience than 
"Holding the 
Baby"? In the 
picture as first 
given an eccen- 
t r i c family 
group may have 

been playing at " Odd or even ? " or the 
yuung gentleman in the centre may have 
been explaining how he had got his 
hands run over by a motor-car. 

"The Travel- 
ling Tumblers JI 
introduces us to 
such a mediaeval 
scene as would 
have appealed to 
Charles Reade* 
The young acro- 
bat has indeed 
got through the 
hoop, but 
clumsily. He will 
soon be up 
again, unhurt. 
Meanwhile, his 
little brother 
is beginning 
what may prove 
a more success- 
ful leap. 

0H?|Trf3tfiWft s,R? " 



Many of our readers no doubt 
guessed at once that the lady in 
the box was not a victim of grave- 
ghouls. As one critic put it, the 
participants in the ceremony did 
not look wicked enough. One 
suggested it was a scene at Madam* 
Tussaud's, As a matter of fact, 
the draper's men are u Packing 
the Model" — quite the latest thing 
at a popular price from Paris 10 
cause a fluttering before the pro- 
vincial shop windows when it duly 
arrives- The introduction of a 
price-ticket would, it must be con- 
fessed, rob the weirdest scene of its 


Our apprehensions of horror as 
regards the picture shown at the 
right-hand bottom of the opposite 
page were, it seems, baseless. It 
is merely a Turkish bath. "Hot 
or cold, sir ? " asks the energetic 
attendant, with his clutch on the 
douche ropes. 

When a good-natured and active 
old gentleman can be induced to 
take a hand at " Blindman's Buff" 
the fun is sure to be quite as fast 
and furious as it is depicted in Mr. 
Stott's picture. 

Remote, indeed, from the artist's 
idea was our offered interpretation 
of the next picture. The gentle 
man on the right was 
not a heartless villain 
after all. In fact, he 
had nothing to do 
with the tragedy 
be in 14 enacted to 
crowded houses 
nightly, unless it was 
to enjoy its success 
thoroughly ( *At the 
Wings," Such is the 
striking effect wrought 
by a simple vertical 
line ! 

" at Tut; WINGS. 

terrors and bring us 
from the charnel 
vault to Oxford 
Street at bargain time 
with a rush. 

"Missing Details" 
should prove an 
amusing pastime, 
Carry the idea ^kh 
you when you visit 
the Royal Academy, 

j<jbyGoogfr iN ' T,1E 

Mnjiti..Original from 



NU now the beautiful spacious 
life opened once more for 
Dickie, and he learned many 
things, and found the days all 
goad and happy and all the 
nights white and peaceful in the 
big house and the beautiful garden on the 
slopes above Deptford. And the nights had no 
dreams in them, and in the days Dickie lived 
gaily and worthily, the life of the son of a 
great and noble house ; and now he had no 
prickings of conscience about Beale — left 
alone in the little house in Deptford, 
Because one day he said to his nurse : — 

" How long did it take me to dream that 
dream about making the boxes and earning 
the money, in the ugly place 1 told you of?" 
" Dreams about that place," she answered 
him, "take none of our time here. And 
dreams about this place take none of what is 
time in that other place." 

"But my dream endured all night/' 
objected Dickie. 

" Not so," said the nurse, smiling between 
her white cap- frills. "It was after the dream 
that sleep came— a whole good nightful 
of it." 


By E. NESBiT. 

So Dickie felt that for Beale no time at all 
had passed, and that when he went back — 
which he meant to do — he would get back 
to Deptford at the same instant as he left it. 
Which is the essence of this particular kind 
of white magic. And thus it happened that 
when he did go back to Mr. Beale he went 
because his heart called him, and not for any 
other reason at all. 

Days and weeks and months went by and 
it was autumn, and the apples were ripe on 
the trees and the grapes ripe on the garden 
walls and trellises. And then came a day 
when all the servants seemed suddenly to go 
mad — a great rushing madness of mops and 
brooms and dusters and pails, and everything 
in the house already perfectly clean was 
cleaned anew, and everything that was already 
polished was polished freshly ; and when 
Dickie had been turned out of three rooms 
one after the other, had tumbled over a pail 
and had a dishcloth pinned to his doublet 
by an angry cook, he sought out the nurse, 
very busy in the linen -room, and asked her 
what all the fuss was about. 

tl It can't be a spring cleaning," he said, 
" because it's the wrong time of year," 

"Never say I did not tell thee/ 1 she 
answered, unfolding a great embroidered cup- 
board cloth and holding it up critically. 
''Tomorrow thy father and mother come 
home and thy baby brother : and to-day 
se'nnight thy lit lie cousins come to visit thee." 




" How perfectly glorious ! " said Dickie. 
" But why didn't you tell me ? " 

"If I didn't, 'twas because you never 

" I — I didn't dare to," he said, dreamily ; 
" I was so afraid. You see, I've never seen 

" Afraid ? " she said, laying away the folded 
cloth and taking out another from the deep 
press, oaken, with smooth, worn, brown iron 
hinges and lock. " Never seen thy father and 
mother, forsooth ! " 

"Perhaps it was the fever," said Dickie, 
feeling rather deceitful. " You said it made 
me forget things. I don't remember them — 
not at all, I don't." 

" Do not say that to them," the nurse 
said, looking at him very gravely. 

" I won't — unless they ask me," he added. 
"Oh, nurse, let me do something, too. 
What can I do to help?" 

"Thou canst gather such flowers as are 
left in the garden to make a nosegay for thy 
mother's room, and set them in order in fair 
water. And bid thy tutor teach thee a 
welcome song to say to them when they 
come in." 

Gathering the flowers and arranging them 
was pleasant and easy; asking so intimate a 
favour from the sour-faced tutor, whom he so 
much disliked, was neither easy nor pleasant. 
But Dickie did it. And the tutor was 
delighted to set him to learn a particularly 
hard and uninteresting piece of poetry 
beginning : — 

Happy is he 

Who, to sweet home retired, 
Shuns glory so admired 
And to himself lives free ; 

While he who strives with pride to climb the skies 

Falls down with foul disgrace before he dies. 

Dickie could not help thinking that the 
father and mother who were to be his in this 
beautiful world might have preferred some- 
thing simple and more affectionate from 
their little boy than this difficult piece, 
whose last verse was the only one which 
seemed to Dickie to mean anything in par- 
ticular. In this verse Dickie was made to 
remark that he hoped people would say of 
him : " He died a good old man," which he 
did not hope, and, indeed, had never so much 
as thought of. The poetry, he decided, would 
have been nicer if it had been more about his 
father and mother and less about fame and 
trees and burdens. 

But he abandoned the idea of writing 
poetry, deciding that it was not his line, and 
painfully learned the dismal verses appointed 
by his tutor. 

Digitized by ^OOQ IC 

But he never got them said. When the 
bustle of arrival had calmed a little, Dickie, 
his heart beating very fast indeed, found him- 
self led by his tutor into the presence of the 
finest gentleman and the dearest lady he had 
ever beheld. The tutor gave him a little 
push, so that he had to go forward two steps 
and to stand alone on the best carpet, which 
had been spread in their honour, and hissed 
in a savage whisper : — 

" Recite your song of welcome ! " 

" Happy is he," began Dickie, in tones 
of gloom, and tremblingly pronounced the 
first lines of that unpleasing poem. 

But he had not got to " strives with pride " 
before the dear lady caught him in her arms, 
exclaiming, " Bless my dear son ; how he has 
grown ! " and the fine gentleman thumped 
him on the back and bade him " bear him- 
self like a gentleman's son and not like a 
queasy square-toes." And they both laughed 
and he cried a little, and the tutor seemed to 
be blotted out, and there they were all three 
as jolly as if they had known each other all 
their lives. And a stout young nurse brought 
the baby, and Dickie loved it and felt certain 
it loved him, though it only said "Goo ga 
goo " exactly as your baby brother does now, 
and got hold of Dickie's hair and pulled it, 
and would not let go. 

There was a glorious dinner, and Dickie 
waited on this new father of his, changed his 
plate, and poured wine out of a silver jug 
into the silver cup that my lord drank from. 
And after dinner the dear lady-mother must 
go all over the house to see everything; 
because she had been so long away, and 
Dickie walked in the garden among the ripe 
apples afrid grapes, with his father's hand on 
his shoulder, the happiest, proudest boy in 
all Deptford — or in all Kent, either. 

His father asked what he had learned, and 
Dickie told, dwelling perhaps more on the 
riding and the fencing and the bowls and the 
music than on the sour-faced tutor's side of 
the business. 

" But I've learned a lot of Greek and 
Latin, too," he added, in a hurry, "and 
poetry and things like that." 

" I fear," said the father, " thou dost not 
love thy book." 

" I do, sir ; yet I love my sports better," 
said Dickie, and looked up to meet the fond, 
proud look of eyes as blue as his own. 

" Thou'rt a good, modest lad," said his 
father, when they began their third round of 
the garden, " not once to ask for what I 
promised thee." 

Dickie could nfrjr, ( ^and this. "I might 


t IO 


have asked/' he said, presently, " but I hive 
forgot what the promise was. The fever " 

(l Aye, aye, poor lad. And of a high truth, 
too ! Owned he had forgot* Come, jog 
that poor peaked remembrance." 

Dickie could hardly believe the beautiful 
hope that whispered in his ear, 

" I almost think I remember," he said. 
" Father, did you promise — — " 

" I promised if thou wast a good lad, and 
biddable and constant at thy book and thy 
manly exercises, to give thee, so soon as thou 
shouldst have learned to ride him " 

" A little horse ? " said Dickie, breathlessly. 
"Oh, father — not a little horse?" It was 
good to hear one's father laugh that big, joily 
laugh— to feel one's father's arm laid like 
that across one's shoulders. 

The little horse turned round to look at 
them from his stall in the big stables, It was 
really rather a big horse. What coloured 
horse would you choose — if a horse were to 
be yours for the choosing? Dickie would 
have chosen a grey, and a grey it was, 

"What is his name?" Dickie asked, when 
he had admired the grey's every pointy had 
had him saddted> and had ridden him proudly 
round the pasture in his father's sight 

"We call him Rosinante," said his father, 
"because he is so fat," and he laughed ; but 
Dickie did not understand the joke. He 
had not read " Don Quixote," as you, no 
doubt, have. 

" I should like," said Dickie, sitting square 
on the grey, u to call him Crutch. May I ? n 
- ** Crutch ? " the father repeated, 

" Because his paces are so easy/ 1 Dickie 
explained* He got off the horse very quickly 
and came to his father. "I moan 
even a lame boy could ride him. Oh, 
father, I am so happy :" he said, and 
burrowed his nose in a velvet doublet, 
and perhaps snivel- 
led a little. "I am 
so gbd I am not 

"Fancy-full as 
ever," said his father, 
"Come, come! 
Thou'rt weak yet 
from the%fever. Be 
a man ! Remember 
of what hlood thou 
art. And thy mother 
—she also hath a gift 
for thee — from thy 
grandfather. Hast 
thou forgotten that? 
It hangs to i he 

book learning, A reward — and thou hast 
earned it," 

" I've forgotten that too," said Dickie. 
" You areiVt vexed because I forget ? I can't 
help it, father," 

"That I'll warrant thou cannot. Come, 
now, to thy mother, my little son! The 
Earl of Scilly chid me but this summer for 
sparing th^ rod and spoiling the child. But 
thy growth in all things bears out what I 
answered him. I said, 'The boys of our 
house, my lord, take that pride in tt that 
they learn of their own free will what many 
an earl's son must be driven to with rods/ 
He took me, His own son is little better 
than an idiot, and naught but the rod to 
blame for it, I verily believe/' 

They found the lady mother and her babe 
by a little fire in a wide hearth. 

" Our son comes to claim the guerdon of 
Itarning," the father said. And the lady 
stood up with the babe in her arms* 

"Call the nurse to take him," she said. 
But Dickie held out his arms, 

" Oh, mother ! " he said, and it was the first 
time in all his life that he had spoken that word 
to anyone. " Mother, do let me hold him." 

A warm, stiff bundle was put into 1m 
careful arms, and his little brother instantly 
caught at his hair. It hurt, but Dickie 
liked it. 



HURT, KL-T rHqefipafflfcn, 



i ii 

The lady went to one of the carved 
cabinets and with a bright key from a very 
bright bunch unlocked one of the heavy 
panelled doors. She drew out of the 
darkness within a dull-coloured leather bag 
embroidered in gold thread and crimson 

11 He has forgot," said Sir Richard, in an 
undertone, "what it was that the grand- 
father promised him, though he has well 
earned the same. Tis the fever." 

The mother put the bag in Dickie's 

" Count it out," she said, taking her babe 
from him, and Dickie untied the leathern 
string and poured out on to the polished 
long table what the bag held — twenty gold 
pieces ! 

" And all with the image of our late dear 
Queen," said the mother, "the image of that 
incomparable virgin Majesty whose example 
is a beacon for all time to all virtuous ladies." 

" Ah, yes, indeed," said the father. " Put 
them up in the bag, boy. They are thine 
own to thee, to spend as thou wilt." 

11 Not unwisely," said the mother, gently. 

"As he wills," the father firmly said; 
" wisely or unwisely. As he wills. And 
none," he added, "shall ask how they be 

The lady frowned ; she was a careful 
housewife, and twenty gold pieces were a 
large sum. 

" I will not waste it," said Dickie. " Mother, 
you may trust me not to waste it." 

It was the happiest moment of his life to 
Dickie. The little horse — the gold pieces. . . . 
Yes, but much more, the sudden good, safe 
feeling of father and mother and little brother ; 
of a place where he belonged, where he loved 
and was loved — and by his equals. For he 
felt that, as far as a child can be the equal of 
grown people, he was the equal of these. 
And Beale was not his equal, either in the 
graces of the body or in the inner treasures 
of mind and heart. And hitherto he had 
loved only Beale ; had only, so far as he could 
remember, been loved by Beale and by that 
shadowy father, his "daddy," who had died 
in hospital, and, dying, had given him the 
rattle, his Tinkler that was Hardings' Luck. 
And in the very heart of that happiest 
moment came like a sharp dagger- prick 
the thought of Beale. What wonders could 
be done for Beale with those twenty gold 
sovereigns. For Dickie thought of them 
just as sovereigns— and so they were. 

And as these people who loved him, who 
were his own, drew nearer and nearer to his 

Digitized by LiOOglC 

heart — his heart, quickened by love of them, 
felt itself drawn more and more to Mr. 
Beale — Mr. Beale the tramp, who had been 
kind to him when no one else was — Mr. 
Beale, the tramp and housebreaker. 

So when the nurse took him, tired with 
new happinesses, to that beautiful tapestried 
room of his he roused himself from his good 
soft sleepiness to say, " Nurse, you know a lot 
of things, don't you ? " 

" I know what I know," she answered, 
undoing buttons with speed and authority. 

" You know that other dream of mine- 
that dream of mine, I mean, the dream of a 
dreadful place ? " 

" And then ? " 

" Could I take anything out of this dream 
— I mean out of this time — into the other 

" You could, but you must bring it back 
when you come again. And you could 
bring things thence. Certain things. Your 
rattle, your moonseeds, your seal." 

He stared at her. "You do know things," 
he said ; " but I want to take things there 
and leave them there." 

She knitted thoughtful brows. 

"There's three hundred thick years be- 
tween now and then," she said. "Oh, yes, I 
know. And if you held it in your hand 
you'd lose it, like as not, in some of the 
years you go through. Money's mortal heavy 
and travels slow — slower than the soul of 
you, my lamb. Someone would have time 
to see it and snatch it and hold to it." 

" Isn't there any way ? " Dickie asked, 
insisting to himself that he wasn't sleepy. 

" There's the way of everything — the 
earth," she said. " Bury it and lie down on 
the spot where it's buried, and then when 
you get back into the other dream the kind, 
thick earth will have hid your secret, and you 
can dig it up again. It will be there — unless 
other hands have dug there in the three 
hundred years. You must take your chance 
of that." 

"Will you help me?" Dickie asked. "I 
shall need to dig it very deep if I am to 
cheat three hundred years. And suppose," 
he added, struck by a sudden and unpleasing 
thought, "there's a house built on the place? 
I should be mixed up with the house. Two 
things can't be in the same place at the same 
time ; my tutor told me that. And the house 
would be so much stronger than me ; it 
would get the best of it, and where should I 
be then ? " 

" I'll ask where thou'd be," was the very 
surprising answerf^Jii'll ask someone who 




knows. But it'll take time. Put thy money 
in the great press and I'll keep the key. 
And next Friday as ever is come your little 
cousins.' 1 

They came. It was more difficult with 
them than it was with the grown-ups to con- 
ceal the fact that he had not always been the 
L>ickie he was now, but it was not so difficult 
as you might suppose. It was no harder 
than not talking about the dreams you had 
last night 

And now he had indeed a full life— head- 
work, bodily exercises, work, home life T and 
joyous hours of play with two children who 
understood play as the poor little, dirty 
Deptford children do not and cannot under- 
stand it. 

He lived and learned, and felt more and 
more that this was the life to which he really 
belonged. And days and weeks and months 
went by and nothing happened, and that is 
the happiest thing that can happen to anyone 
who is already happy. 

Then one night the nurse said : — 

11 1 have asked. You are to bury your 
treasure under the window of the solar 
parlour and lie down and sleep on it. You'll 
take no harm, and when 
you're asleep I will say 
the right words, and 
you'll wake under the 
same skies and not 
under a built house, 
like as you feared." 

She wrapped him in 
a warm cloth mantle of 
her own when she took 
him from his bed 
that night after all 
the family were 
asleep, and put on 
his shoes and led 
him to the hole 
she had secretly 
dug below the j 
window. They had 
put his embroi- 
dered leather bag 
of gold in a little 
wrought -iron coffer 
that Sebastian had given 
him, and the nurse? had 
tightly fastened the join of 
lid and box with wax and 
resin. The box was wrapped in a silk scarf, 
and the whole packet put into a big earthen 
ware jar with a lid, and the join of lid and jar 
was smeared with resin and covered with clay. 
The nurse had shown him how to do all this. 

Digitized by L^OOgle 

"Against the earth spirits and the three 
hundred years,'* she said. 

Now she lifted the jar into the hole, and 
together they filled the hole with earth, 
treading it in with their feet. 

" And when you would return," said the 
nurse, " you know the way." 

11 Do I ? * 

" You lay the rattle, the seal, and the 
moonseeds as before, and listen to the voices." 

And then Dickie lay down in the cloth 
cloak, and the nurse sat by him and held his 
hand till he fell asleep. It was June now, 
and the scent of the roses was very sweet, 
and the nightingales kept him awake awhile. 
But the sky overhead was an old friend of 
his, and as he lay he could see the shining of 
the dew among the grass blades of the lawn. 
It was pleasant to lie again in the bed with 
the green curtains. 

When he awoke there was his old friend 
the starry sky, and for a moment he won- 
dered. Then he remembered* He raised 
himself on his elbow. There were houses 
all about— little houses with lights in some 
of the windows. A broken paling was quite 
close to him. There was no grass near t only 

->+ ft *HL** *J ■ 








rough, trampled earth ; the smell all about 
him was not of roses, but of dustbins ; and 
there were no nightingales ; but far away he 
could hear that restless roar that is the voice 
of London, and near at hand the foolish song 
and unsteady footfall of a man going home 
from the Cat and Whistle. He scratched a 
cross on the hard ground with a broken bit 
of a plate to mark the spot, got up and crept 
on hands and knees to the house, climbed in, 
and found the room where Beale lay asleep. 

"Father," said Dickie next morning, as 
Mr. Beale stretched and grunted and rubbed 
sleepy eyes with his unwashed fists in the 
cold daylight that filled the front room of 
15, Lavender Terrace, Rosemary Street. 
"You got to take this house — that's what 
you got to do, you remember." 

"Can't say I do," said Beale, scratching 
his head ; " but if the nipper says so, it is so. 
Let's go and get a mug and a doorstep, and 
then we'll see." 

" You get it, if you're hungry," said Dickie. 
"I'd rather wait here in case anybody else 
was to take the house. You go and see 'im 
now. 'E'll think you're a man in reg'lar work 
by your being up so early." 

"P'r'aps," said Beale, thoughtfully, run- 
ning his hand over the rustling stubble of his 
two days' beard, " p'r'aps I'd best get a wash 
and brush-up first, eh ? It might be worth it 
in the end. I'll 'ave to go to the doss to get 
our pram and things, any'ow." 

The landlord of the desired house really 
thought Mr. Beale a quite respectable work 
ing man, and Mr. Beale accounted for their 
lack of furniture by saying, quite truthfully, 
that he and his nipper had come up from 
Gravesend, doing a bit of work on the way. 

"I could," he added, quite untruthfully, 
"give you the gentleman I worked with for 
me reference — Talbot t 'is name is, a bald 
man with a squint and red ears — but p'r'aps 
this'll do as well." He pulled out of one 
pocket all their money— two pounds eighteen 
shillings — except six pennies which he had 
put in the other pocket to rattle. He rattled 
them now. " I'm anxious," he said, con- 
fidentially, " to get settled on account of the 
nipper. I don't deceive you, we 'oofed it up, 
not to waste our little bit, and he's a hoppy 

"That's odd," said the landlord; "there 
was a lame boy lived there along of the last 
party had it It's a cripple's home by rights, 
I should think." 

Beale had not foreseen this difficulty, and 
had no story ready. So he tried the truth. 

VoL xxxviiL— 15. 

" It's the same lad, mister," He said, " that's 
why I'm rather set on the 'ouse. You see, it's 
'ome to 'im like," he added, sentimentally. 

"You 'is father?" said the landlord, 
sharply. And again Beale was inspired to 
truthfulness — quite a lot of it. 

" No," he said, cautiously ; " wish I was. 
The fact is, the little chap's aunt wasn't much 
class. An' I found 'im wandering. An' not 
'avin' none of my own, I sort of adopted 'im." 

"Like wandering hares at the theatre," 
said the landlord, who had been told by 
Dickie's aunt that the ungrateful little 
warmint had run away. " I see." 

" And 'e's a jolly little chap," said Beale, 
warming to his subject and forgetting his 
caution, "as knowing as a dog ferret, and his 
patter— enough to make a cat laugh, 'e is 
sometimes. And I'll pay a week down if 
you like, mister, and we'll get our bits of 
sticks in to-day." 

" Well," said the landlord, taking a key 
from a nail on the wall, " let's go down and 
have a look at the 'ouse. Where's the kid ? " 

" 'E's there a-waitin' for me," said Beale. 
" Couldn't get 'im away." 

Dickie was very polite to the landlord, at 
whom, in unhappier days, he had sometimes 
made faces, and when the landlord went he 
had six of their shillings and they had the key. 

" So now we've got a 'ome of our own," 
said Beale, rubbing his hands when they had 
gone through the house together. "An 
Englishman's 'ome is 'is castle, and what 
with the boxes you'll cut out and the dogs 
what I'll pick up, Buckingham Palace'll look 
small 'longside of us — eh, matey ? " 

They locked up the house and went to 
breakfast, Beale gay as a lark and Dickie 
rather silent. He was thinking over a new 
difficulty. It was all very well to bury twenty 
sovereigns and to know exactly where they 
were. And they were his own beyond a 
doubt. But if anyone saw those sovereigns 
dug up, those sovereigns would be taken away 
from him. No one would believe that they 
were his own. And the earthenware pot was 
so big. And so many windows looked out 
on the garden. No one could hope to dig 
up a big thing like that from his back garden 
without attracting some attention. Besides, 
he doubted whether he were strong enough 
to dig it up, even if he could do so un- 
observed. He had not thought of this when 
he had put the gold there — in that other life. 
He was so much stronger then. He sighed. 

"Got the 'ump, mate?" asked Beale, with 
his mouth ful|jnal from 



" We'd best buy the sticks first thing," said 
Beale. " It's a crool world. 'No sticks, no 
trust ! ' is the landlord's motto." 

Do you want to know what sticks they 
bought? I will tell you. They bought a 
rusty old bedstead — very big, with laths that 
hung loose like a hammock, and all its knobs 
gone, and only bare screws sticking up 
spikily. Also a flock mattress and pillows, 
of a dull, dust colour, to go on the bed ; and 
some blankets and sheets, all matching the 
mattress to a shade. They bought a table 
and two chairs, and a kitchen fender with a 
round steel moon — only it was very rusty — 
and a hand-bowl for the sink, and a small 
zinc bath — "to wash your shirt in," said Mr. 
Beale— four plates, two cups and saucers, 
two each of knives, forks, and spoons, a tin 
teapot, a quart jug, a pail, a bit of Kidder- 
minster carpet, half a pound of yellow soap, 
a scrubbing brush and broom, two towels, a 
kettle, a saucepan and a baking-dish, and a 
pint of paraffin. Also there was a tin laYnp 
to hang on the wall, with a dazzling crinkled 
tin reflector. This was the only thing that 
was new, and it cost tenpence halfpenny. 
All the rest of the things together cost 
twenty-six shillings and sevenpence half- 
penny, and I think they were cheap. 

But they seemed very poor and very little 
of them when they were dumped down in the 
front room. The bed especially looked far 
from its best — a mere heap of loose iron. 

"And we ain't got our droring-room suit, 
neither," said Mr. Beale. " Lady's and gent's 
easy-chairs, four hoccasionals, pianner, and 
foomed oak booreau." 

" Curtains," said Dickie ; " white curtains 
for the parlour and short blinds everywhere 
else. I'll go and get 'em while you clean the 
winders. That old shirt of mine — it won't 
hang through another washing. Clean 'cm 
with that." 

"You don't give your orders, neither," 
said Beale, contentedly. 

The curtains and a penn'orth of tacks, a 
hammer borrowed from a neighbour, and an 
hour's cheerful work completed the fortifica- 
tion of the Englishman's house against the 
inquisitiveness of passers-by. But the landlord 
frowned anxiously as he went past the house. 

" Don't like all that white curtain," he told 
himself; "not much be'ind it, if you ask me. 
People don't go to that extreme in Nottingham 
lace without there's something to hide — a 
house full of emptiness, most likely." 

Inside Dickie was telling a very astonished 
Mr. Beale that there was money buried in 
the garden. 

" It was give me," said he, " for learning of 
something, and we've got to get it up so as 
no one sees us. I can't think of nothing but 
build a chicken-house and then dig inside of 
it. I wish I was cleverer. He Reward would 
have thought of something first go off." 

" Don't you worry," said Beale ; " you're 
clever enough for this poor world. YotSrc 
all right. Come on out and show us where 
you put it Just peg with yer foot on the 
spot, looking up careless at the sky." 

They went out. And Dickie put his foot 
on the cross he had scratched with the 
broken bit of plate. It was close to the 
withered stalk of the moon-flower. 

"This 'ere garden's in a poor state," said 
Beale in a loud voice ; " wants turning over's 
what / think — against the winter. I'll get a 
spade and 'ave a turn at it this very day, so I 
will. This 'ere old artichook's got some 
roots, I lay." 

The digging began at the fence and 
reached the moon-flower, whose roots were 
indeed deep. Quite a hole Mr. Beale dug 
before the tall stalk sloped and fell with slow 
dignity like a forest tree before the axe. 
Then the man and the child went in and 
brought out the kitchen table and chairs and 
laid blankets over them to air in the autumn 
sunlight. Dickie played at houses under 
the table — it was not the sort of game he 
usually played, but the neighbours could not 
know that. The table happened to be set 
down just over the hole that had held the 
roots of the moon-flower. Dickie dug a little 
with a trowel in the blanket house. 

After dark they carried the blankets and 
things in. Then one of the blankets was 
nailed up over the top-floor window and on 
the iron bedstead's dingy mattress the resin 
was melted from the lid of the pot that Mr. 
Beale had brought in with the other things 
from the garden. Also it was melted from 
the crack of the iron casket. Mr. Beale's 
eyes, always rather prominent, almost resem- 
bled the eyes of the lobster or the snail as 
their gaze fell on the embroidered leather 
bag. And when Dickie opened this and 
showered the twenty gold coins into a hollow 
of the drab ticking, he closed his eyes and 
sighed and opened them again and said : — 

" Give you ? They give you that ? I don't 
believe you." 

" You got to bdieve me," said Dickie, 
firmly. " I never told you a lie, did I ? " 

" Come to think of it, I don't know as you 
ever did," Beale admitted. 

" Well," said Dickie, " they was give me. 




"We'll never change 'em, though," said 
Beale, despondently, "We'd get lagged, for 
a cert. They'd say we pinched 'em." 

41 No, they won't. 'Cause I've got a friend 
as'll change 'em for me, and then we'll 'ave 
new clobber and some more furniture 
and a carpet, and a crockery basin to 
wash our hands and faces in 'stead of 
that old tin thing. And a bath we'll 
'ave. And you shall buy some more 
pups. And 111 get some proper carving 
tools. And our fortune's made* See? " 


"You nipper," said Beale, slowly and 
fondly. " The best day's work ever I done 
was when I took up with you. You're straight, 
you are — one of the best. Matty's the boy 
would 'ave done a bunk and took the shiners 
along with him. But you stuck to old Beale 
and hell stick to you." 

"That's all right," said Dickie, beginning 
to put the bright coins back into the bag* 

11 But it ain't all right," Beale insisted* 
stubbornly ; " it ain't no good, I must have 
it all out or bust, I didn't never take you 
along of me 'cause I fancied you like what I 
said. I was just a- looking out for a nipper to 
shove through windows — see — along of that 
red-headed chap what you never set eyes on," 

Digitized by Go 

( To it continued.) 


" I've known that a long time," said Dickie, 
gravely watching the candle flicker on the 
bare mantelshelf. 

"I didn't mean no good to you, not at 
first 1 didn't," said Beale, " when you wrote 

on the sole of my 
boot. Td bought 
that bit of paper and 
pencil a - purpose. 
There ! " 

** You ain't done 
me no 'arm, any- 
way," said Dickie, 

"No— I know I 
ain't.' Cause why? 
'Cause I took to you 
the very first day, I 
alius been kind to 
you — you can't say 
I ain't." Mr. Beale 
was confused by the 
two desires which 
make it difficult to 
confess anything 
truthfully — the 
desire to tell the 
worst of oneself and 
the desire to do full 
justice to oneself at 
the same time. It 
is so very hard not 
to blacken the black- 
ness or whiten the 
whiteness when one 
comes to trying to 
tell the truth about 
oneself. " But I 
been a beast all the 
same," said Mr. 
Beale, helplessly, 

l( 0h t stow it!" 
Dickie said; "now 
you've told me it's all square," 

"You won't keep a down on me for it?" 
"Why should I?" said Dickie, exasperated 
and very sleepy. "Now all is open as the 
day, and we can pursue our career as 
honourable men and comrades in all high 
emprise. I mean," he explained, noticing 
Mr. Kealc's open mouth and eyes, more 
lobster like than ever, "I mean that's all 
right, father, and you see it don't make any 
difference to me. I knows you Ye straight 
now, even if it didn't begin just like that* 
Let's get to bed, sha'n't us?" 

Mr Beale dreamed that he was trying to 
drown Dickie in a pond full of stewed eels. 
Dickie didn't dream at all 
Original from 




[ Wt shall be glad to receive Contributions to this section, and to pay for suth as are accepted. ] 
Copyright, 190^ by George Ncwmrs, Limited. 


AST month we set our 

readers this interesting 

little problem ; ll Every night at 

twelve p.m. I wind up my watch, 

giving twelve turns. Should 1 

forget to wind, the watch will 

run down at six o'clock the 

following morning* It occurs to 

me that I may be overwinding 

my watch, and 1 determine to give 

only ten turns each night, and 

commence to do so on a Monday 

night. Will the watch run down, 

and, if so, when ? Note : Turns 

in winding are all of equal 

value/' The following is ih* 

answer generally given, though 

it is incorrect : As twelve turns 

carries the watch for twenty- 

four hours and till six o'clock — 

that is to say, for thirty hours 

— ten turns would carry it twenty - five hours, 

and therefore the w r atch would never run down. 

The correct solution is as follows : The watrh, 

of course, always lias sis hours in hand. The 

problem starts : 4| Every night J wind my watch, 

giving twelve turns/ 7 If every night twelve turns are 

required, each l urn carries two hours, and therefore 

ten turns on Monday night carries it for twenty hours, 

to eight o* clock Tuesday evening and six hours in 

hand = two o'clock on Wednesday morning. Ten 

winds on Tuesday night carries to eight o'clock 

Wednesday evening and two hours in hand = ten 

o'clock on Wednesday evening, when the watch runs 

down. — Mr- 0. Sindall, 41, Clock House Road, 


A MONG some sections of tree- trunks, obtained 
£\ for a rockery, we found the curious growth of 
which I send you a photograph. The Tree wii-, an 
elm, and the outer edges of the ** curls 7 * are covered 
with lmrk< Can any of your readers give a reason 
for this freak ? — Mr* D. Reynolds, Killowen, Dene- 
wood Road, Highgate, N« 


A SCHOOLMASTER in a small German town, 
hung very fond of hees, resolved to build for 
them something novel in the way of a home- As 
bee- hives a:e generally of the same size, colour , and 
shape, it is .sometimes difficult for a bee to find bis 
own particular home, so this kind hearted school- 

master decided to give each of his hives some distin- 
guishing mark. As will be seen from the first photo- 
graph, the buildings represent an inn, castle, house, 
cottage, windmill, etc There are also a number of 
animals, one of which, an elephant, is shown, carved 
from wood, closely resembling their living brothers, 
The owner is naturally very proud of his creation and 
is constantly enlarging it, — Mr. Ferdinand Greii 
Riickers, Schlesien. 





THE above photographs show front and side views 
of a fancy dress representing li Hair-an'-'Arf." 
The cost Mine was prepared in three evenings during 
spare time, and I he dress suit was in no way altered 
or damaged, all the tramp- side garments being super- 
sirucled. There is a nine days' beard on one side of 
the face, the hair being combed with isinglass to make 
it stand up. The face and arm are stained and made 
up with powders to look exactly like a natural I ramp's 
complexion, minus ihe din. The boot is an old 
hand -sewn one, made up with painted and stained 
brown paper, with a hole in front hum which 
a piece of tow r prolr tided. The whole costume 
cost about a shilling to produce, and was a 
great success at mure than one dance. The photo - 
graphs were taken hy the Yankee Studios, Ltd + , 
Woolwich* — Mr. H. F. Stanley, 102, Maryon 
Road, Old Charlton, Kenu 

THbl EAR, 

HERE is a 
taken at Fanning 
Island, of a native 
of une of the South 
I 5 aci fi c I sta n d s t sli u w- 
ing how these men 
make use of their 
ears to carry their 
smoking apparatus. 
Occasionally one 
even sees them carry- 
ing small quantities 
of food in the same 
w a y. — M r. L- 
{ Irani, TO, Brace well 
Koad, Si* (<)uintin f 5 


I AM sending you a photograph of an imita- 
tion clock, in which there are a number of 
mistakes, several of which ;nc not noticeable even 
Uj the practised jeweller* Perhaps some of ihe readers 
of Tuti St KAN n may like to discover them for thenv 
.selves. — Mr, S, M. Jones, Fair View, 2, Ethel Road, 
Seacorni^ Cheshire. Photo. J. Newman, Eg re muni* 
(Next month we will publish a list of the various 
imsiakes which have hecn made.) 




June 2( 1831 H w. clah" 

3 1905Colnd ^ 

rk* Ati- 1 * ..*.** nf . k. 

—,-■«■. 'vuipi - - - -i — ■■ i^ i. i u. ii.j n ".t nr 

*\ t*s ■ 1 '.# 
I • MP Afertfl 



obedience thereto the stonemasons 
chiselled in bold relief no fewer than 
fi ft y s y in bo! s* N ear I y e v ery i n c h of space 
is taken up with these queer figures. 
They include a house, fence, plough, 
grain cradle, rooster, hen, turkey, cow, 
horse, side - saddle, pair of scissors, 
thimble, violin, copies of love-letters, 
owl , fish, etc Everything that apper- 
tained to the farm, domestic life and 
outdoor pleasures, was, where possible, 
reproduced upon this monument. — Mr* 
E. E> Pierson, Bloomin£ton, III., U.S. A. 


| GET * 






IN all the cemeteries of 
the world there pro- 
bably exists no more fan- 
tastic conception than in 
the rural graveyard nf 
Pleasant Ridge, in Piatt 
County, U.S.A. To the 
memory nf a daughter 
whom he idolized, Hanni- 
bal Clark, a wealthy but 
simple - minded farmer, 
erected this remarkable 
shaft of granite. lie was 
&o affected by her death 
that he survived but a short 
time after he hud made 
provision iur the erection 
of the strange monument. 
Not only did he stipulate 
what he wished engraved 
concerning his daughter, 
but also concerning his 
wife and himself* It was 
the freakish desire of the 
father to place upon the 
monument a replica of all 
that the girl loved on earth. 
He left instructions that 
no expense he spared to 
inscribe upon the stone a 
miniature teproduction of 
the objects upt m which she 
lavished her affection. In 


AM I LLSTON E three thousand and 
seventy-six miles from London is 
surely something of a novelty, so that I 
think the photograph I send you will |>e 
considered worthy of a place among your 
"Curiosities" The stone 
is on Scour Hill Fort, Ber- 
muda. — Rev. J. Dalhan, 
Cha pi ai n R . N - , R oval 
Naval Club, Bermuda 


*' HpHIS man show 

X taigerall daylong 

lie makie bing * bang 

plenty sing song 
When foreign devil he 

[cntH alung 
Who live this side in Hong- 
He stop little while he 

wanlchi see 
This raigei do anything be 

still and paly. 
Vely s™>n this Chinaman 

caichie plenty money 

and gold 
He have inuchie 1-riee 

when he get old* 11 
The above is an amusing 
advertisement used by the 
Chinaman shown here. As 
an example of pidgin- ling- 
lisb poetry it will probably 
prove of interest to many 
St RANO readers. — Mr. 
Bend Skou, The Phar- 
macy, 22, Queen s Road 
'"ItrjuV Uoiuz-Kong. 




" TTS perfectly horrid, and ought to be stopped/* 
i So spoke a woman who saw in a shop win- 
dow a caricature of her headgear* The creation that 
had called down such anathema was an inverted ellip- 
tical wooden chopping bowl, applique with rope, and 
trimmed with a small feat her -duster nattily placed on 
the north-north-wesr corner. The idea of this satire 
upon feminine millinery originated with a workman. 


I AM sending you two optical illusions which 
seem to me to l*e of mure than usual interest 
The first drawing, which might t>e called *' The 

Magic Staircase,' ' 
shows a flight of 
steps from which- 
ever side it may 
\k looked at, 
though it takes 
the eyes some 
seconds to per- 
ceive that this is 
so. The other 
drawing also has 
many peculiar 
properties. It may 
he regarded 
merely as a num- 
ber of lines on a 
fiat surface, as 
a box resting on 
one of its sides, 
or as a, box 
stnnding on one 
•if its edges* — 
Mr- James R 
Cameron, 248, 
Ken m tire Street, 
Pol I ok shields, 


His employer saw the value of the proposed advertise- 
ment, and a model was procured for the centre of 
the window. On her waxen bead they perched the 
crowning triumph in hardware headgear, a fearfully 
and wonderfully constructed chap*au of rope, decorated 
with fringed ends of the same, and two large screw- 
driver hatpins* Everybody laughed, and the crowd 
al >< nit the window thickened. All the new millinery 
shapes were shown in "guaranteed hardware, " and 
the display was the talk of the town— the said town 
being Los Angeles.,. California, — Miss Frances A. 
Groflf, Hotel Melrose, 120-130, S. Grand Avenue, 
Los Angeles, California^ L\S-A, 


WBMrtBl^^^ai J 

ZJRB the best splendour, 20th Centuries' fashionable and 
/l charming pure rolled gold finger ornaments. These nogs are 
made up in our own workshop and praised by their o«n beauty 
and everlasting colours, J 

Looks like a precious one, but price Is R« 1^0 only each. 
One dnzen Re- 12. or Half a dozen R*. 7 Beside* or which 
Pravntl r~One Njckte silver fancy watch and chain to be 
■warded to the purchaser of a Dozen Ring 

One sat Bottom Rj 3 par set Silt Pint Re. t mk One pair Tsp Re I 
V. P. Available 

8. K. SHEE & Co., 

29-3! MlwapiiT Street, CALCUTTA 

U N I < tnJ>l It Ur mlLnl'.j.^N 



I" 1 MLS interest- 
ing adver- 
I i so men t describes 
the wares of an 
Indian firm deal- 
ing in watches 
and rolled jjdd 
jewellery. "One 
set bottom'^ 
means a set of 
button s, and 
"Saft Pint" 
stands for safety 
pin, but what 
"One Pair Top'' 
menns is more 
th:m I enn tell. 
-Mr. M. S. 
R am sichandra. 
Reserve Police 
Jemadar, Chik- 
niagalur, India. 



' I "'HIS is a photograph , taken by myself 
X last year, of an old London horse 
omnibus that I found on the prairie on 
the outskirts of the City of Calgary, 
Alberta, Western Canada, It had been 
stripped of its outside seats, and iwjre 
^ii ti announcements as* "Over Waterloo 
Bridge, 11 "Camden Town," "Old Kent 
Rp$o7' "The Dun Cow," etc. Il still 
bore the name of the original owner, ■ 
Mr. French, of London. I have come 
across many discarded London omnibuses 
in out-of-the-way villages, etc v in this 
country, but I never expected to find one 
six thousand miles away from the Metro- 
polis.— Mr, Henry Pope, 437, Fulham 
Palace Road, London, S. W. 


N interesting novelty, in the form of 
a match between two men both 

Pitman's Shorthand while you 
in ay - Y out sisters and y ou r brot nets 
only /kink, but you know that 
you must do* Writers ! Shorthand 
letter- writers are good writers, 'tis 
plain. Work j work t work, and earn, 
earn, earn ; and then you will be 
sure to win, Do yon hear what I 
say r " — Mr, A- Woodiwiss, Daven- 
ham, EHesmere Road, Colwyn 
Bay, North Wales, 

of whom had lost 
Institute, Stafford. 
b\ IX Don og hue, 

their left arm, was witnessed at Messrs* Siemens'* 
The players were Messrs. W. Sheldon and 
It will be noticed from the illustration that 
one player used the marker's 
brush for a bridge, whilst 
the other had a metal cup, 
grooved at the sides, for 
this purpose. — Mr. A, 
Leonard Yapp, 124, Cor- 
poration Street, Stafford. 


HERE is a photograph, taken 
in the market-place of the 
old Moorish city of Toledo, in 
Spain, showing a baby learning to 
walk. The child w;ts moving so 
quickly and waving us arms with 
such energy that the photograph 
was not obtained without much 
difficulty.— Miss IL J. Hardy, 61 , 
Addison Road, Kensington, \\\ 


THIS is a copy of a prize- 
winner's work in a 
shorthand competition for 
the best head or face con- 
st rue ted from a phono 
graphic sentence. The 
I ol lowing is the key ; ** Learn 

by Google 

Original from 



High Commissioner for Canada. 

\ T few men does the impress of 
the years rest so lightly as 
upon Lord St rath con a. 
Seventy-one years ago a youth 
of eighteen— he left Scotland 
for Canada. He had been 

educated for the Kast 
India Company's ser- 
vice, but a junior 
position with the 
Hudson Bay Com- 
pany being offered to 
him by friends, he at 
once accepted it, and 
was soon on active 
service in the Far 
North-West ; and in 
all the time that has 
since elapsed he has 
lived a life of activity 
and earnest striving. 
Carlyle would have 
hailed htm as a true 
apostle of work, for 
even now, verging 
though he is on his 
ninetieth year, Lord 
Strathcona still keeps 
himself " busy with 
the crowded hour/' 
knowing nothing of 
idle moments and the 
uselessness of leisured 
ease. So it has been 
all his life ; and now, 
as the interviewer in- 
duces him to give way 

Vol. xjcxviii. — 18. 

Pram i Photv. 

to the relaxation of a short talk upon the 
subject dearest to bis heart — Canada — the 
personality of the veteran is rather that of 
one who is eighty-nine years young than 
eighty-nine years old. 

Obtaining the privilege of an interview 
with the High Com- 
missioner at his offices 
in Victoria Street, 
West minster, the ot h er 
day, the interviewer 
had the pleasure of 
hearing from I^ord 
Strathcona's own lips 
something of the 
Canadian story as it is 
known to one who has 
been a prime mover 
in the Dominion's 
later developments, 
and of gleaning many 
interesting facts con- 
cerning Canada's pre- 
sent condition and 
future prospects. It 
is difficult to get his 
lordship to speak 
about the old days in 
Canada, when in the 
service of the Hudson 
Bay Company he was 
laying foundations of 
Empire in the Great 
Lone Land, as the 
far ■ spreading North - 
Western territory was 
then so appropriately 

on a, <:.c, M.u. 

tit UtfcVttttr 

by Google 

Original from 



called ; or to tell of the later times of 
conflict when, by the suppression of the 
Riel rebellion and the bringing about 
of the unchallenged cession to the British 
Crown of the great North-West, he did so 
much to solidify our Canadian possessions. 
Some day these things will be told m 
their full significance, and we shall also 
learn the whole facts of Ix>rd Strathcona's 
strenuous fight on behalf of the Canadian 
Pacific Railway enterprise, which was the 
means of consummating the Confederation of 
the Dominion. But it would be as useless to 
endeavour to get his lordship to converse on 
these great events as to get him to talk about 
"Strathcona's Horse," or the munificence of 
his charities. But on Canada and its 
potentialities he can detach himself from the 
strictly personal element of the subject, and 
what he says is so much information, expe- 
rience, and practical wisdom ; and these 
things the interviewer has endeavoured to 
set down, not perhaps in Lord Strathcona's 
exact words, but in their substance. 

To have been at the heart of things in a 
great country for so long a period as Lord 
Strathcona has been in relation to Canada, 
and in more or less touch with its forces of 
expansion, was a wonderful schooling in the 
processes of national growth ; but the main 
facts are now historic and need not be parti- 
cularly dwelt upon at this juncture. Canada 
as it is to-day, and as it may be in the future, 
is the chief concern. The past has been, to 
a large extent,* a time of conflict — sometimes 
its aspects have been military, but more 
generally political— yet above all it has been 
a fight for progress ; and it is in this latter 
phase that the struggle has now become more 
animated and more interesting than ever. 

So far as the world at large was concerned 
— nay, so far as Great Britain was con- 
cerned — Canada was an almost unknown 
land when Lord Strathcona first ventured 
to the Western outposts of the Hudson Bay 
territory — a land for navigators, explorers, and 
adventurers to exploit rather than for adop 
tion as a permanent homeland. In those 
days there were not more than some half a 
million inhabitants in all Canada, and the 
process of settlement was slow. To day the 
population is approaching seven and a half 
millions, of which over two millions have 
been added during the present decade, and 
as many people are shipped to Canada from 
Europe in a week nowadays as formerly 
crossed over in a twelvemonth. When Lord 
Strathcona made his first trip over the 
Atlantic the boats were of the 500 - ton 

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class, and the voyage occupied weeks ; to- 
day steamers of 20,000 tons, with accom- 
modation for over 1,600 passengers, make 
the crossing in less than seven days. But 
even this is far too slow for Lord Strathcona, 
he wants to see a four days' passage. The 
change that has been brought about in these 
matters comes of an increased knowledge oT 
Canada, That knowledge is yet by no means 
so widespread as it ought to be or as it 
assuredly will be, but this it is that sets the 
stream of emigration flowing and will continue 
it in ever- increasing volume. Without being 
unduly optimistic, Lord Strathcona is firmly 
convinced that by the end of the present 
century — and a century is not a long period 
in a country's history after all— the popula- 
tion of Canada will be equal to the present 
population of the United Kingdom. 

Canada's future is a question of resources. 
Without natural resources no country could 
become populous or prosperous, but when 
the resources are so bountiful and so service-, 
able and beneficial, both to individuals and 
to the community, as in Canada, they must 
in the nature of things be sought after. And 
the surprising thing about Canada is that its 
resources are so much greater than was ever 
suspected by the early settlers. Canada is now- 
discovered to be richly dowered with almost 
every description of natural wealth. Millions 
of acres that in the past have been regarded 
as wild and barren tracts not worth the 
agriculturist's serious notice are proving to 
be among the most fertile and productive 
regions of the world for grain and fruit, while 
the hills and mountains — scorched as they 
are in some places, and brown and bare, and 
chilled and white, in others — have within their 
recesses untold treasures of precious minerals, 
from gold, silver, and copper to iron and 
coal. Then, as regards timber, the source of 
so much industrial wealth in these days, what 
country can compare with the Dominion in 
the value of its produce ? These are among 
the potentialities that mean so much to the 
Canada of the next hundred years. 

But rich as Canada is in the things that 
constitute tangible wealth, it is no Utopia, no 
lotus land of idle luxury, but essentially the 
country for the worker And this is a point 
that cannot be too strongly insisted upon 
For willing and capable hands, and men of 
character, grit, and brains, Canada is the 
land of many opportunities ; for physical or 
mental weaklings, for the laggard, the lazy, 
or the dreamer, it is a land to be shunned 

It is the migration of the " misfits" and 
" failures " that is one of the great troubles. 
Original from 



They have been the trouble in all new 
countries — in the United States, in South 
Africa, and elsewhere. What is the good of 
opportunities to men who cannot use them 
and master them? The richest soil in the 
world means nothing to the man who neither 
knows how to till it nor has the will to learn. 
The chances of new industries are of little 
good to those who have not been able to 
make some headway in the old. But for 
men of vigour and purpose, with energy to 
work and courage to wait and endure, Canada 
has always need. Indeed, one third of the 
farming men who are succeeding with agri- 
culture in the Dominion to-day are men who 
had not farmed before. 

The twentieth century will be Canada's 
great period of upbuilding, and many rewards 
will come to those who diligently and faith- 
fully assist in the country's development. 
But, fair as the outlook is, there will be 
times of stress and crisis to encounter. 
National prosperity is never a matter of 
easy, gradual expansion, but it is all the 
stronger and more durable for having to come 
to "grips" with difficulties from time to time. 
So it will be as long as human passions and 
ambitions cross and influence, help or impede, 
the course of progress. But we must have 
faith in our race. Men will arise strong 
enough and patriotic enough to cope with 
such problems and emergencies as may arise. 

Now let us see what the really practical 
potentialities of Canada are, as far as we are 
able to gauge them by present disclosed 
evidences. We have a country covering an 
area of 3,744,695 square miles; an enor- 
mous territory, as wonderful in its variety 
as in its extent. There is hardly a single 
element of what is considered natural wealth 
in other countries that does not at one point 
or another come into the sum of Canada's 
resources. And what has been the great 
factor in the demonstration of these resources? 
The railways. In no country of the world 
has a more bold and courageous enterprise 
in railway construction been shown than in 
Canada. It is to its railways that Canada 
owes its rediscovery. The railways have been 
the true explorers. There were people in 
plenty to prophesy ruin and disaster to the 
Canadian Pacific Railway undertaking when 
it was first projected. The answer to that is 
emphatic enough. Today for the traffic 
of the Canadian Pacific Railway 45,418 
freight cars, 1,819 passenger cars, and 1,412 
locomotives are required, while at Winnipeg 
the company have the largest individual 
railway yard in the world. The very nature 

Digitized by ^OOQ lC 

of the country through which this great line 
was built was misunderstood and unknown, 
its resources were hardly guessed at, so 
negligible were they generally regarded. 
Now the land stands revealed in all its 
beauty and richness over the whole of that 
3,000 miles of extent. And the good work 
is still going on. The Grand Trunk Pacific 
and the Canadian Northern Railways 
are rapidly spreading out westward and 
northward, and the revelation of resources 
and opportunities is being proceeded with 
more actively than ever — a fact which can- 
not fail to accelerate the pace of settlement. 
The Minister of the Interior, cabling at the 
end of April, said that a thousand miles of 
railway will be constructed in the west by 
three Canadian railway systems this year. 

It is the farmer who will largely shape the 
destinies of Canada during the twentieth 
century. The railways practically put him 
in possession of the largest and most pro- 
ductive area of agricultural lands in existence, 
and provide him with the avenues of access 
to m the worlds markets. Over 7,000,000 
acres will be under wheat in Western Canada 
this year. What the quantity will be in ten, 
twenty, fifty, or a hundred years it is beyond 
the power of man to predict ; but with a 
couple of hundred millions of acres or so 
of good grain -producing land to count 
upon we may be sure that the results will 
be far beyond anything within our present 
range of experience. And it is not only 
as a gigantic wheatfield that this region 
has to be looked upon ; every kind of 
farming or agricultural pursuit comes well 
within its possibilities. Fruit-farming is 
going to be — in fact it is already — a great 
Canadian industry ; and it is the same 
with cattle breeding, dairy farming, poultry 
raising, sheep and hog farming, horse 
raising, and so on. Cities and towns will 
rise up at convenient operating centres over 
this vast Western land, and, with the growth 
of population, industries and manufactures 
will be established. Transportation facili- 
ties of every sort will be created ; landways 
and waterways— and perhaps airways, who 
knows? — will be in active operation, for as 
the land fills up Canada's resources will come 
into full play and be utilized according to what 
ever may be the approved method of the time. 
Canada will fulfil her promise, and much 
more, and will not only keep abreast with 
the old homeland, with which her destiny is 
linked, but with the other nations of the 
world. Are these not potentialities worth 
being associated! ffcfrft J. B. 






Vice-President Canadian Woman's Vrkss Club. 

Green prairies like an ocean swelling 

From rise to set of sun— great rivers spelling 

Their rugged names in B lack foot and in Cree. 
The glorious land reserved by God till now 
For England's help in need — that holds the plough 

A thousand miles on end. 

of three provinces— Manitoba, 
Saskatchewan, and Alberta ; 
they all offer inducements to 
the come-outer from crowded 
lands, and each has a story of 
its own to tell But to-day's story has to do 
with the westernmost province of the three, 
Alluring Alberta, lying between the province 
of Saskatchewan and the Rocky Mountains, 
and extending up toward the top of the map 
from the United States to the 6oth parallel 
of north latitude. 

Alberta is big.- Within her far-flung 
boundaries is a province which Nature made 
fit for a nation. The everlasting hills of the 
Rockies, those western ramparts which stand 
as guardian gods of Canada's fairest pro- 
vince, look eastward to greet a rising sun 
that shines Uf>on t 70,000,000 acres of wheat 
land, and it is all in Alberta. Think of it 3 
That is a greater area of country than the 
German limperor rules over ; it is a 
territory twice as vast as Great Britain and 
Ireland; it is larger than any State in the 
Republic to the south, and exceeds in arable 
land by many million acres any other province 
in the wide Dominion of Canada. 

by Google 

And there is room for everybody. Of all 
these fat acres, only T t ooo,ooo are under 
cultivation ; yet these produced last year 
1 8,000,000 bushels of grain, with a total 
value of ten and a half million dollars. 

The doors have been opened and the 
people are coming in + The most recent 
statistics of crop area, school attendance, and 
postal returns show us that Alberta has more 
than doubled in population in the last five 
years. Thirty-five years ago the white popu- 
lation of the province was less than i^ooo, 
and if the increase continues at the present 
rate the census-gatherer of 191 1 will find 
here half a million souls* 

But forty-bushel wheat is not the whole of 
Alberta's story of the soil. The plough may 
be mightier than the branding iron, but it 
does not follow that everybody who comes 
to Alberta must turn vegetarian and grow 
dollar- wheat. Added to her grain area, 
Alberta has 5,000,000 acres of ranch mg land 
and her cattle exports last year totalled 
3,000, ooodo Is. The rancher came before 
the wheat man, but the latter has by no 
means dispossessed the former. 

When the ftrave twilight moves toward the west, 

And the horizons of the plain are hlurred, 
I watch on gradual slope and foothill crest 

The dark line or the herd. 
Ann something primal through my being thrills, 

For that line met the night when lite began, 
And cattle gathered from a thousand hills 

Have kept the trail with man 
Till their calm eyes his greater Iliads hold. 

Original from 


I2 S 

It is true that instead of the swis-s-s-sh of 
the whirling lariat or the low murmur of the 
night herder's lullaby as he rides the circle 
of his uneasy hunch, we in many places hear 
the prosaic chug-chug of the loud smelling 
gasolene-engine and see the wheat-elevator 
red against the rising sun, The extension 
of the barbed- wire fence, the closing of the 
old, familiar water-holes, the advent of the 
sport with his hammerless choke-bore and his 
troop of pedigreed pointers have caused the 
range steer to roll his timid eye and retire to 
the hinterland that ties beyond the wheat. 
But it is too early to sing the requiem of the 
Canadian cowboy. 

The bull-puncher is just beginning to play 
the game off his own bat, to go into cattle- 
raising on his own account, to cease to be a 
lawless outrider and picturesque poster -effect, 
as he merges into the solid citizen. The day 
of the immense herd and the many acres is 
past ; there are probably now in Western 
Canada not more than half a hundred 
big cow -outfits left — />., ranches stocked 
with from 6,aco head up; but Alberta 
is such an enormous country that its final 
settling is no matter of a decade or two. 
The United States has been settling its West 
for forty years, yet there remain thousands of 
cowboys whirling their lassos and millions of 
cattle on American ranges. The breaking 
up of the big ranges is a good thing for 
Alberta It is better for the country that 
there should be twenty men, each owning in 
his own right 500 head of cattle, than one 
man owning 10,000 head and drawing a 

princely income. The man who owns his 
500 steers is in a position to marry and 
support his little family in comfort, and it is, 
here as elsewhere, the self-supporting family 
and not the millionaire merger that is the 
unit of national greatness. 

The far-seeing Albertan farmer grows 
animals as well as raises wheat. On every 
well-regulated farm it is freely admitted that 
to confine operations to crop-raising, even 
with wheat at idol a bushel, is neither 
frugal nor logical. The fatted calf, the lordly 
steer, and the poor little sheep have lifted 
many a mortgage. No farmer is prosperous 
enough to afford to ignore the chocolate- 
coloured gentleman that pays the rent, the 
classic Tarn worth hog, that mainstay of 
Alberta and joy of the farmer's wife, that 
producer of pianos, and shoes for the baby. 

In producing prize horses Alberta is the 
Kentucky of the West. Thoroughbreds from 
Great Britain and Kentucky, Clydesdales 
from Scotland, trotting-stock from the United 
States, and Percherons from France, in the 
beginning were imported as sires at great 
expense ; the early breeders in Alberta were 
competent men with capital and sound judg- 
ment, and the result has been that at all the 
large shows on the continent — the Inter- 
national, the World's Fair (Chicago), in 
Winnipeg, Toronto, Buffalo, and New York — 
horses bred and matured in Alberta have 
captured the blue ribbon in hard contested 

So invigorating is the high and dry winter- 
climate that there is a complete absence of 



Original from 




horse sickness of any kind, and the liberty of 
range gives horses raised here a courage 
and ambition which stable-fed animals lack. 
Alberta horses have plenty of sue, substance, 
and quality, and are much sought after on 
account of their wear and-tear qualities. 

The hackney-carriage horse which took 
first prize at the Montreal and New York 
horse fairs was foated and raised near Calgary. 
During the South African War the British 
War Office reported that horses from Alberta 
stood the hardships better than any other 
mounts and gave a better account of them 
selves j the wonderful climate gives them 
better lungs, legs, and feet than horses raised 

And there is always a demand. Heavy 


draught horses continue to find a ready sale 
at remunerative prices, The market for 
good useful draught and general - purpose 
horses in Alberta wlis never in better tone, 
and with r 2,000 horses thrown on the 
market from this range last year there was 
not the slightest difficulty in disposing of 
every offering. 

The automobile man may speak largely of 
the passing of the horse, but, like the 
passing of the cow- man, that time is not yet* 
The development of new wheat-farms, the 
springing up of railway towns, the building of 
branch lines, the ever-appreciating lumber 
operations will, for years to come, afford a 
market for every draught horse produced in 
Alberta. In addition, the Imperial Govern- 
ment has in view the establish- 
ing of a remount station and 
supply depot in the very centre of 
the range, which should stimulate 
breeders. As it is, Alberta enjoys 
the unique distinction of having 
within. her borders the largest single 
herd of pure - bred Perciierons in 

When it is considered that it 
costs no more in Alberta to raise 
a four - year - old colt than a steer 
of the same age, it will be realized 
that the horse - breeder w + ith the 
necessary capital, pluck, and expert 
knowledge should find here a 
in AUtKKTA. reasonable road to success. 

by Google 

Original from 

Happy New Sot&tH Wales. 


A T U R E was in her most 
generous mood when she 
fashioned New South Wales, 
She did her task upon a big 
scale, and she did it with an ex- 
traordinary thoroughness. This 
great young territory is a land of many 
climates and altitudes and soils* It has 
mountain districts which never lose their 
snows, it has sub tropics where you have the 
profusion of the East, it has grand expanses 
of tablelands adapted to the agriculturist, and 
it has boundless inland plains where the rich 
sweet grasses support the finest flocks of 
wool growing sheep that the world has ever 

This Australian State is capable of self- 
support to a degree enjoyed by very few 
countries young or old. It is a land of 
manifold industries. It is rich in pastoral 
delights and agricultural gifts, in dairying 


Digitized by GoOgk 

and fruit growing, in minerals from gold and 
silver and precious stones to immense deposits 
of coal and iron Its manufacturing possi- 
bilities are scarcely calculable, and its future 
in trade as a distributing centre for the 
South-west Pacific ensures for it much wealth 
drawn from other lands. As a primary 
producer with the widest range of production, 
as a manufacturer, and for its maritime pro- 
mise this prosperous State, already the most 
populous in the Union, has before it a career 
of power and plenty. 

It was a most fortuitous chance which led 
Captain Cook to land in Botany Bay at a 
spot which is now within the suburban radius 
of Sydney. Of all the easy landings that 
might have been made, it was prophetic that 
he and Governor Phillip, who followed in 
rySS to found the first Australian colony, 
should drop anchor within sight of the 
locality destined by Nature to hold Australia's 
most notable and promising city. 
For Sydney, which was then 
planted so humbly, has advanced 
to a noble city of six hundred 
thousand people, a city first to- 
day in the Southern Hemisphere 
and with few rivals in the Empire, 
not at all because of the accident 
of this early choice, but because 
of the magnificent territory of 
which it is the capital and because 
of its pre eminence as a national 
port. The visitor to Australia 
gels in this beautiful waterside 
metropolis a comprehensive intro- 
duction to the State of New South 

Sydney combines, as do few 
great cities in the world, the 
beautiful with the utilitarian. It 
is the joy and boast alike of the 
merchant, the manufacturer, the 
mariner, and the pleasure seeker. 
It is a magnet drawing to it by a 
natural law the widely-varying pro- 
ducts of the territory behind. It 
gives to commerce shelter and 
anchorage in a hundred deep water 
bays capable of floating to the 
very shore the deepest - drawing 
vessels b the world, and at its 
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ocean doors it gives as a playground to 
its people limitless stretches of sandy beach 
and rocky bluff. 

The visitor sees this splendid city today 
with its miles of deep-sea wharfage, its great 
public buildings, its beautiful waterside 
suburbs, its railways and electric tramways, 
its fine service of ferries, its dominant note 
of industrial youthful activity and rapid 
expansion. He reflects that a hundred years 
ago there stood here a straggling village, and 
he marvels at the vast natural wealth which 
must lie in the country behind to have built 
up a metropolis so swiftly, and at the earnest- 
ness and enthusiasm and unbroken toil of a 
people who have turned thai wealth to such 
purpose. That is a first impression. Then 
comes a Saturday afternoon and Sydney goes 
making holiday, and our stranger thinks there 
was surely never such a happy, careless, 
pleasure and nature-loving people as these 
Australians on Port Jackson. 

Sydney expresses New South Wales. The 
capital stands as do few capitals for the 
people It reflects their capacity for big 
work, their conquest over a wide land, their 
wealth, their happiness, their love of open 
air and vigorous sport, It tells of their 
grand range of production. Into the waters 
of Port Jackson come vessels for wool for 
the weavers of all the world, vessels for 
wheat and flour for Euroj>e and the East, 
vessels for beef and mutton and butter and 
cheese for the cities of England, vessels for 

by Google 

ores and timbers, for wines and fruits, and 
much else besides. 

And with the trader come the tourist and 
the sportsman and the seeker after health — 
those who want good shooting and the best 
of fishing, mountain scenery with snow sports 
equal to those of Switzerland and Norway, and 
the caves of a Wonderland ; those who have 
heard that of all outdoor holidays it is hard 
to beat a spell of the magical bush of the 
Australian Inland; those who bring frail 
bodies Europe would not strengthen and who 
go back new men to the battle of the con- 
gested North, Each year since the beginning 
there have come more vessels and bulkier and 
richer cargoes. Each year New South Wales 
has carried more people, and still each year 
has seen a greater surplus for the markets 

This is the feature which everywhere 
gladdens the heart of the student of Empire. 
There is everywhere a new birth taking 
place. Colonies have suddenly become 
States and Commonwealths and Dominions. 
Single stations and ranches are giving place 
to hundreds of farms ; sensational alluvial 
mining is succeeded by deep and permanent 
leads of substantial and regular dividends i 
local manufactures are rising. The pioneer 
ing struggle is over, the day has come for 
building and the employment of many people. 

To no part of the Empire do these re- 
marks apply more happily than to the State 
of New South Wales. It is easy, when you 
Original from 





have for a subject a great territory of virgin 
soil, to paint bright, prophetic pictures, Bur 
it is not always easy to base one's prophecies 
on unchallengeable facts* The commonest 
material in the story of the New South Wales 1 
progress is hard Fart. Its history has been a 
succession of mighty developmental jumps, 
each one far in advance of the last, Ill- 
informed critics sometimes discuss the fickle 
ness of Australian seasonSj and put their 
fingers on isolated bad years. But the story 
of a country is told, not in single years, but 
in centuries or generations. The people of 
New South Wales will be quite content to 
have theirs told in decadeSj and so told it 
presents an unbroken run of increasing wealth 
and opportunity for its owners, People who 
attack Australia on the record of one of her 
lean years overlook the other side of the 

Those who know rural Australia and who 
have seen husbandry in other lands know 
that the Australian stockowner gets hit at 
times because he is of all stnekowners in the 
world i he most improvident If the Australian 
paid one half as much attention to his dry 
seasons as does the Northerner to his winters 
we should hear little of lean years in the 
Common wealth. But his lean seasons come 
seldom, while his seasons of plenty are 
frequent and demoralizing in their profusion, 

The Australian is spoiled by his wide areas 
and his great majority of good seasons, and 
so occasionally gets caught. It is but a 

1 by Google 

Vtflr XJfKVJii.— 17- 

natural phase of development in a young 
country where money comes easily and 
generously from the soil and fosters careless 
ness of insurance. But it is rapidly passing, 
and in the great closer settlement movement 
— the most important movement New South 
Wales has known which is now taking place 
in the Mother State of the Commonwealth, 
settlers are giving more attention to the occa- 
sional year of hunger, and are conserving to 
meet it some of the abundant feed and water 
supplies of the good seasons that invariably 
fall between. It is well to mention this drought 
bogey and to give the world the truth about 
it. The lean seasons do come in New South 
Wales, as they come in every other country, 
but they are now being guarded against by 
both the State and by the people individu- 
ally. And, above all, it must be borne in 
mind that New South Wales is not a uniform 
country of one class and rainfall It runs in 
belts of descending certainty and value as 
you leave the coast 

First you have the coastal strip between 
the Pacific margin and the coastal ranges. 
This is the garden of the State. And such a 
garden ! It is a favoured region of rich sub 
tropical vegetation, deep fertile soil, a mild, 
equable climate, high rainfall, and mountain 
fed rivers. It is a land of small area farmers, 
and is devoted chiefly to the production of 
dairy produce. Before the advent of the 
cream separator and the relrigeratnr a few 
years ago, which made the export of butte: 

■ Original from 




highly profitable, it was comparatively unde 
Today it is the most highly-productive 

[Mir t ion of the State, and is each year in- 
creasing its settlers and its output. It is a 
big employer of labour, and on these dairy 
farms the young British emigrant gets on 
excellent chance of embarking successfully 
on Colonial life. Wages are good and 
employment assured for any willing man and 
his family. Profit sharing is not uncommon 
and is highly popular with the workers. The 
advance of the area has been little short 
of sensational. In 1898 the butter manu- 
factured in New South Wales reached 
31,483,6011!). ;in 1 907 it reached 60,04 1,440,10. 
It is scarcely necessary to say that employ 
rm nt showed a corresponding advance. 

And as yet the industry is only in its 
beginnings. Vast expansion is before it 
(Went areas adapted for the industry are 
still dawdling under less piofitable forms 
of occupation, and the capacity of the 
lands already engaged in butter making is 
each year increasing as farmers give more 
attention to pastures and fodder. Life goes 
smoothly here on the coast. Retiirns ^re 

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very uniform ; the butter factories, nearly all 
of which are owned by the farmers on a co- 
operative basis, pay their cheques monthly* 
The farmer begins his work at an early hour, 
but has a slack time in the middle of the 
day. In passing it may be mentioned that 
Australia's champion scullers — Beach, Searle, 
Ki-mp, Towns, and others who have beaten 
the world — learned their rowing as boys 
upon the rivers which water this luxuriant 
fringe of country. 

Leaving the coast, one traverses ranges 
still rich in varied commercial timbers and 
delightful to the lover of mountain scenery. 
Streams abound and big hauls await the 
angler. In the south of the State one drops 
from the range to the wide and fertile plains 
ol the Monaro, a grand sweep of country 
still held almost entirely by the pastoralist 
Close at hand are the Australian Alps, the 
Switzerland of Australia, the winter play- 
ground of the people, whereat Kiandra and 
other places snow sports are each year 
attracting larger and larger bodies of tourists 

The rivers of the Monaro are famous for 
their fish and English trout abound. In the 
porth you pass from the coastal range on to 

Original from 



the beautiful fertile expanse of country appro 
pnately named New England, where farming 
and squatting flourish side by side, and 
where there still exist great opportunities for 
successful closer settlement Then slightly 
farther to the west, and running the full 
length of the State — a distance of 600 
miles — lies the famous New South Wales 
wheat belt, a magnificent expanse of agn 
cultural country adapted for almost every 
description of crops and stock 

Here thrives the mixed farmer in rapidly 
increasing numbers and prosperity. The 
rainfall is ample for the growth of cereals 
and fodderSj the soil is rich and remarkably 
uniform in character, the land free from stock 
diseases —you search vainly in this heavily- 
stocked country for Lhe veterinary surgeon — 
rivers are fairly numerous, and water is easily 
caught and con 
served. This great j<~ 
belt is given up ■ ( 
chiefly to sheep 
and to wheat, but 
the rainfall and 
the rich native 
grasses make 
dairying profitable 
as an adjunct, 
and herds and 
butter factories 
are making strik- 
ing headway. 

Fruit of all de- 
scriptions grows to 
perfection. It is 
ideal country for 
the wise farmer 
who dislikes to 
have all his eggs 
in a single basket. 
Here a man may 
grow a few hundred 

acres of wheat and oats and barley, breed fat 
lambs for export, milk a herd of cows, and, 
if he wishes, embark upon orcharding. It is 
on this country that the chief strides are being 
made to-day in multiplying the farmers, To- 
day the area cultivated in New South Wales 
amounts to 2,570,000 acres, and this would 
be much larger but for the fact that the 
exceptionally high values prevailing for wool 
and meat and butter in the past few seasons 
have arrested the plough in favour of an 
increase in farmers flocks and herds. 

The brightness of the future of New South 
Wales as an agricultural country lies in that 
a vast area of all these good lands on and 
off the coast is still held by the pastoral ists- 

Digitized by d* 

Stations of from 20,000 to 100,000 acres, 
and even more* are common all through the 
country capable of supporting prosperous 
farmers on holdings of 300 and 400 acres. 
This evil is now being corrected Big 
owners are selling voluntarily and under 
compulsion by the State to farmers, who are 
advanced as much as 80 per cent, of their 
purchase money by the Government and 
given thirty eight years in which to repay it 
Farms are every day being obtained on these 
terms, both by local men and by immigrants 
possessed of a little capital. The land has 
all been under stock for many years, is sweet, 
heavily grassed* and free of green timber. 
Hence from the day of occupation it begins 
to give profits to its new farming owners. 
Rural New South Wales is well served by 
3,500 miles of State railways, and is dotted 


thickly with flourishing townships. The 
beginner on the land to-day knows no 

From this wheat and sheep country you 
pass out on to the pastoral country proper. 
It reaches almost boundlessly into the west 
- country that knows its occasional dry years, 
hut which on the average is a rare spinner of 
wealth and which gives to its holders a life 
that once tasted is rarely deserted. It is 
here that you have Australia in her *' magni 
ficent distances' 1 ; this is the country of the 
world's greatest wool teams, the overland nig 
drover, the "walers M which have made the 
Australian horse famous wherever good horses 
are loved ; it is, lhe country, too, of such 


*3 2 


wealthy patches 
of earth as Broken 
Hill, Cobar, and 
White Cliffs. It 
is a fitting back- 
ground of almost 
unknown riches 
to a young giant 
among the pos- 
sessions of the 

How sound is 
all this pastoral 
country, how 
assured in its 
returns, may be 
gathered from the 
Statistician's re- 
turns, which show 
that between 
i860 and 1907 

the sheep of New South Wales have increased 
from 6,119,163 to 44,462,000, while in the 
same period there has been a substantial gain 
in the numbers of horses and cattle. And 
this in addition to all the advance in agri 

Wealth talks in figures. To indicate briefly 
the magnitude and range and the products 
of this favoured State it may be stated that 
in 1907 her wool clip weighed 367,446,0001b., 
ofa value of J^\ 7,185,000; her butter weighed 
60,041,4491b* ; her cheese, 4,586,5871b, ; 
her bacon and hams, 10,538,5261b. ; 
her wheat reached 21,818,000 bushels. 
These touch but lightly on the products of 
the farm and the station. Add ,£1,050,730 
from gold, ^3> 6 5 8 > 6 3 3 from silver > ^7 J 7>774 


by Google 


from copper, and upwards of a million more 
from minor minerals j add ^£2,922,419 from 
coal— an increase of ,£585,000 on the year; 
,£32,000 from kerosene shale, an industry 
just getting on to its feet; and ,£60,550 for 
pig iron — a preliminary instalment from beds 
of ore officially estimated at 53,000,000 tons ; 
and on the top of this great score of in- 
creasing primary production consider that the 
State has now ^£15,800,000 invested in 
manufactories which in 1907 paid ,£6,6 50,7 15 
in wages, and manufactured goods and 
accomplished w T ork to the value of 

It is a stirring story of British achieve- 
ment And satisfactory as it is, better is to 
come. New South Wales is as yet but in 

her beginnings. Her 
lands, her mines, 
her factories, and 
her trading are to- 
day just finding their 
stride* There is 
natural wealth in pro- 
fusion. Men and 
capital are called for ; 
and for brains and 
muscle and money 
the widest choice of 
employment and rich 
returns are offered- 
Offered, too, in a 
country as healthy 
and beautiful as it 
is rich 

Original from 




N regard to British Columbian 
fruit -farming, it. is truly the 
unexpected that has happened. 
The province was looked upon 
as a brave land enough for the 
miner, the general farmer, the 
stockbreeder, and the men of the timber and 
fishing industrieSj but no one seemed to think 
of it until recently as a possible fruit-yielding 
region. A dozen years ago it did not produce 
even enough fruit for the consumption of its 
own population ; to-day it is exporting thou- 
sands of tons a year, its fruit finding such 
favour in the markets of the world that the 
demand is already 
far in excess of 
the present power 
of supply. And 
the most surpris- 
ing feature of this 
development is 
that the region of 
richest yield is 
just the one" from 
which no fruit was 

In the once 
bare and arid 
valleys of the 
Kootenays and 
Okanagan, which 
seemed incapable 
of growing any- 
thing better than 
scrub or rank 

grass almost too coarse for cattle feed, the 
experiment of artificial irrigation was tried 
upon a tract of land, and after the dry 
earth had soaked in the grateful moisture it 
soon responded with a fresh beauty of vege- 
tation that converted the plain into a radiant 
garden. The transformation was almost as 
rapid as that of— 

Adonis 1 gardens, 
Tfiat tine flay bloomed and fruitful w;is the next, 

The " Dry Belt," which the summer suns 
and the crisp, cold winters of countless a^es 
had alternately scorched and hardened, was 
then discovered to be a country of marvellous 
fertility, with beds of generous loam soil 
underlying its barren crust to the extent in 
some parts of a hundred feet or more. How 

Digitized by G* 


this soil came to be deposited there it is fur 
the geologist to determine ; what can be 
done with it is being practically demonstrated 
by the fruit-farmers who have settled on the 
land. The power to conserve and distribute 
over the soil an adequate supply of water 
according to natural needs has rendered the 
farmer independent of drought and capable 
of utilizing with proper effect the ripening 

The result is wonderful. "All the herbs 
and flowers and fruits are produced and 
thrive by water, 5 ' said wise old Izaak Walton ; 
but the genial angler knew nothing of irri- 
gation. To him 
there could be no 
fruitful n ess with- 
out showers or 
dews, and such a 
bringing together 
of the natural 
forces necessary 
for the growth of 
perfect fruit as 
exists in the u Dry 
Kelt" of British 
Columbia was 
beyond his wildest 
imagining. But 
there the lesson 
of this happy 
alliance is being 
successfully en- 
forced* There is 
no long waiting for the time of fruitage, as 
in older lands. The fourth year gives some 
yield of fruit from the trees, and thencefor- 
ward the harvest is substantial. The range of 
fruits is wide, including apples, pears, plums, 
strawberries, tomatoes, cherries, peaches, 
grapes, raspberries, blackberries, goose- 
berries, prunes, black-currants, etc. Root crops 
and small fruits, planted between the trees 
for the first year or two, and red clover up to 
the fifth year, will more than pay the cost of 
the trees, though some fruitgrowers do not 
adopt this practice, preferring the whole 
strength of the soil to go to the trees. 

From official sources I glean the following 
experiences of growers : li In Okanagan there 

are instances of Xioo to /120 per acre 






gross profit. At Kelowna nine tons of pears 
and ten tons of prunes per acre are not 
uncommon. Near Nelson fourteen acres pro- 
duced ijOoo cases of strawberries and ninety- 
four tons of roots, netting the owner £20 per 
acre. This land was formerly a cedar swamp. 
At Lytton, Tokay grapes, averaging 4IU to the 
bunch, were grown in the open, On the 
Coldstream Ranch, near Vernon, twenty 
acres produced ^2,000 w + orth of Northern 
Spy apples. At Peach land an acre and a 
half gave a return of jQi^o. Tomatoes to 
the value of ^300 per acre were grown on 
Okanagan Lake. A cherry tree at Penticton 
produced Soolb. of fruit ; another at Agassiz 

The Karl of Aberdeen may be said to 
have been one of the pioneers of the fruit 
growing industry in British Columbia, While 
Governor General he bought about 15,000 
acres in the Okanagan 
Valley, near Vernon, 
and thanks to the irri- 
gation system adopted 
and the general laying 
out of thy estate, excel- 
lent results have been 
obtained Tram the land 
already under cultiva- 
tion, large quant i tics 
of the fruit being now 
shipped to the Lon- 
don and Continental 

When Lord Aber- 
deen made his original 
purchase the British 
Columbian fruit grow- 
ing problem was yet to 
solve. Now* when Earl 

Grey, the present 
Governor ■ General, 
pays a visit to the 
great "Dry Belt' 
fruit lands he sees 
on every side most 
gratifying realiza- 
tions. In a speech 
delivered at the 
opening of the New 
Westminster Exhi- 
bition, his Excel- 
lency said: 4t Fruit- 
growing in your pro- 
vince has acquired 
the distinction of 
being a beautiful art 
as well as a most 
profitable industry. 
After a maximum wait of five years, I under 
stand, the settler may look forward with 
reasonable certainty to a net income of from 
^20 to j£$o per acre after all expenses of 
cultivation have been paid. Here is a state 
of things which appears to offer the oppor 
tunity of living under such ideal conditions 
as struggling humanity has only succeeded in 
reaching in one or two of the most favoured 
spots upon the earth. There are thousands 
of families living in England to day— families 
of refinement, culture, and distinction, families 
such as you would welcome among you with 
both arms — who would be only too glad to 
come out and occupy a log hut on five acres 
r*f a pear or apple orchard in full bearing, if 
they could do so at a reasonable cost." 

To the average Englishman the term " Dry 
Belt" is somewhat puzzling; but when he 
arrives in British Columbia and finds that 


A TYPICAL ORaUR£i)^J¥fit|0|!R(An 




11 Dry Belt 1 ' lands cost much more than " Wet 
Belt' 1 lands, for the simple reason that the 
former produces a vastly greater abundance 
and liner quality of fruit than the latter, he 
is not long in getting at the secret of it all. 
He learns that it is simply a matter, of soil and 
climate — of "Dry Belt" fertility and luxuriance 
as against the less productive lands. 

A glance at a map of this region will show 
that these " Dry Belt" tracts have many beauti- 
ful lakes and rivers, notably the Thompson 
River and the large lakes of Okanagan, Nicole, 
and Kam loops. But as the system of irrigation 
is chiefly by gravitation, water for irrigation 
purposes is usually obtained by tapping the 
higher and smaller lakes away up the hills, 
and leading the water down on 10 the fruit 
farms by means of ditches —a work that is 
largely done at considerable expense by the 
Land Development 
Corporations. .^ 

This perfect con- 
trol of water supply, 
coupled with the 
fact of a perfect soil 
and perfect climate, 
establishes the 
conditions which 
enable such great 
results to be ob- 
tained. There is a 
clear and bright 
atmosphere all the 
year round, with an 
average rainfall of 
six inches and 
comparatively little 
snow in winter* 
The existence of 
the " Dry Belt" is 
e x p I a i n e d b y 

the anion of the wind current, which, 
coming in from the Pacific, brings with 
it the warm Japanese mists which condense 
into rain on the western face of the coast 
range, thus producing the "Wet Belt" of 
the coast lands* Then the air current lifts 
the clouds high above the l * Dry Belt," and 
carries them over to the western face of the 
Se I kirks and Kockies, where they again pre- 
cipitate themselves in profusion, thus produc- 
ing a second " Wet Belt." It is a strange 
and wonderful meteorological phenomenon, 
hut it has been going on for centuries, and 
will continue for centuries more* 

Few men have given closer study to this 
question than Mr- J. S. Kedmayne, M.A., 
whose brochure, " Fruit Farming in British 
Columbia," published by the British Columbia 

Development Association, Ltd., of 115, High 
Hoi born, London, W.C., contains a good 
deal of valuable information on this subject. 
An apple or peach orchard in bearing on the 
11 Dry Belt/ T he says, is something of the 
nature of an annuity, and it is difficult to 
persuade a man to sell his orchard when once 
it has come into commercial hearing, which 
is about the fifth year after planting. Inten- 
sive culture is the rule, and the size of a ll Dry 
Belt" fruit farm averages ten acres. Mr + Ked- 
mayne says: u A ten-acre apple orchard, when 
in bearing, should yield an income of j£6oo 
a year from apples alone, after paying working 
expenses; and this should increase with the 
years until a revenue of ^1,000 or j£i 7 2qq 
is reached. Apart from this the income 
from intermediate crops may be anything 
from j£iS° a y euT upwards, according to the 



energy and enterprise of the farmer. Ten 
acres is as much as one individual can con- 
veniently handle. 1 ' 

To account for the extraordinary attrac- 
tions of this comparatively new industry, from 
the purely commercial standpoint and quite 
apart from the amenities of a glorious climate, 
sport, and the free open air life of the 
province, is a comparatively easy matter 

Three factors only are involved, viz* ; 
(1) The prices obtained by the grower for 
his fruit ; (2) the extent of the markets 
available for it ; and (3} the productiveness 
of the British Columbia soil 

As to the first, a schedule of the ruling 
prices for the past three or four years is 
sufficient evidence and can be easily ob- 
tained. The average wholesale selling prices 

Original from 




of the chief fruits throughout the province 
during the last four years, on the authority 
of the Government Hand-book, were :— 

Apples — early, 4s. 2d. to 6s, 3d, per 401b. 
box f.o.b. shipping point ; autumn, 5s, 2d. ; 
winter, 7s, ; while during the latter part of 
February and March as high as 8s, 4d. per 
40] b, box for No. 1 grade lots. Crab apples, 
Ss. ^d. per 40IL box ; pears— early, 8s, 4d. 
per 40IK box ; late, 6s. 3d, per 40! Il box ; 
peaches, 5s, per 2olb, box; cherries, 8s. 4d, 
per 2olb. box ; prunes and plums, 3s, 2d. 
per aolb. box ; tomatoes, 4s, 7d. per 20IL 
box ; strawberries, ios t per 24-basket crate. 
There is no need to give similar details 

apricots, figs, 

potatoes, or 

significant fact that the "Dry Belt" fruit 
farmer in British Columbia habitually makes 
his calculations not so much in prices 
as in the quantities of first-grade stuff 
his farm will turn out. He does not 
appear to trouble about prices and markets* 
There are certain things that an Englishman 
thinking of going out to the " Dry Belt " of 
British Columbia should bear in mind. He 
should obtain proper advice as to the district 
to select as the scene of his future operations. 
He should secure some adequate training, 
particularly in " Dry Belt" fruit culture, and for 
this he will need expert advice. Then there 
is a third point — the dearer the fruit lands 
the cheaper they are in the end. The new- 
comer from England — obsessed as he is, 
perhaps, with the idea of the free grants of 
160 acres of prairie land in the Eastern 
Provinces of Canada— does not always at 
first understand that he will have to pay 
^50 or j£fto and upwards per acre for the 
best quality fruit-lands on the "Dry Belt" 
of British Columbia; and the truth of this 
is only borne m upon him when be comes 
to realize that such lands are limited in 
quantity, costly to prepare and irrigate, and 
eagerly sought after by the experienced fruit- 
grower from the United States, 

But the fruit industry of British Columbia 
is still tn its infancy. Much mote fruit- 
growing land than has yet been ascertained 
will eventually come into fruit cultivation. 
Indeed, fruit can be grown almost anywhere 
in the province, but as far as present know- 
ledge goes it is in the " dry kinds " that the 
really choice grades will be grown, 

Full information about all these matters 
can be had from the State Government and 
Emigration Offices m London and from the 
different I,and Development Companies. 


It is the second point the extraordinary 
productivity of the soil -which is the thing 
that really matters. This, at any rate, is the 
point which most appeals to the fruit grower in 
the province, and, after all, he is the man who 
knows. It is a simple matter of calculation, the 
extraordinary productivity of the acre under 
intensive cultivation — whether it he apple 
trees, small fruits, or vegetables multiplied by 
the ruling prices for the produce, and remem- 
bering, in the case of apples, for example, 
that 80 iser cent, of the British Columbia 
" Dry Belt " fruit is of first-grade quality in 
the market. The prices obtained for the 
produce are so fairly constant that it is a 

Digitized by Google 


Original from 

by Google 

Original from 



(See fagt ng.) 

by Google 

Original from 


Vol. xxxviii. 

AUGUST, 1909. 

No. 224. 




OM CRIBB, Champion of 
England, having finished his 
active career by his two ( famous 
battles with the terrible Moli- 
neux, had settled down into 
the public -house which was 
known as the Union Arms, at the corner 
of Panton Street in the Haymarket. Behind 
the bar of this hostelry there was a green 
baize door which opened into a large, 
red-papered parlour, adorned by many sport- 
ing prints and by the numerous cups and 
belts which were the treasured trophies of 
the famous prize-fighter's victorious career. 
In this snuggery it was the custom of the 
Corinthians of the day to assemble in 
order to discuss, over Tom Cribb's excellent 
wines, the matches of the past, to await the 
news of the present, and to arrange new ones 
for the future. Hither also came his brother 
pugilists, especially such as were in poverty or 
distress, for the Champion's generosity was 
proverbial, and no man of his own trade was 
ever turned from his door if cheering words 
or a full meal could mend his condition. 

On the morning in question — August 25th, 
1 8 18— there were but two men in this famous 
snuggery. One was Cribb himself— all run to 
flesh since the time, seven years before, when, 
training for his last fight, he had done his 
forty miles a day with Captain Barclay over 
the Highland roads. Broad and deep, as 
well as tall, he was little short of twenty stone 
in weight ; hut his heavy, strong face and 
lion eyes showed that the spirit of the prize- 
fighter was not yet altogether overgrown by the 
fat of the publican. Though it was not eleven 
o'clock, a great tankard of bitter ale stood 
upon the table before him, and he was busy 
cutting up a plug of black tobacco and 
rubbing the slices into powder between his 
horny fingers. For all his record of des- 
perate battles, he looked what he was — a 
good-hearted, respectable householder, law- 

Vol. xxxviiL— 18 Copyright, 1909, by 

abiding and kindly, a happy and prosperous 

His companion, however, was by no means 
in the same easy circumstances, and his 
countenance wore a very different expression. 
He was a tall and well-formed man, some 
fifteen years younger than the Champion, and 
recalling in the masterful pose of his face and 
in the fine spread of his shoulders something 
of the manly beauty which had distinguished 
Cribb at his prime. No one looking at his 
countenance could fail to see that he was a 
fighting man by profession ; and any judge of 
the fancy, considering his six feet of height, 
his thirteen stone of solid muscle, and his 
beautifully graceful build, would admit that 
he had started in his career with advantages 
which, if they were only backed by the 
driving-power of a stout heart, must carry 
him far. Tom Winter, or Spring — as he chose 
to call himself — had indeed come up from 
his Herefordshire home with a fine country 
record of local successes, which had been 
enhanced by two victories gained over formid- 
able London heavy-weights. Three weeks 
before, however, he had been defeated by the 
famous Painter, and the set-back weighed 
heavily upon the young man's spirits. 

" Cheer up, lad^' said the Champion, 
glancing across from under his tufted eye- 
brows at the disconsolate face of his com- 
panion. "Indeed, Tom, vou take it over- 

The young man groaned, but made no 

"Others have been beat before you and 
lived to be Champions of England. Here I 
sit with that very title. Was I not beat down 
Broadwater way by George Nicholls in 1805 ? 
What then? I fought on, and here I am. 
When the big Black came from America it 
was not George Nicholls they sent for. I say 
to you — fight on, and, by George, I'll see you 
in my own shoes yet ! " 

A«hu, etwEftSffY OF MICHIGAN 



Tom Spring shook his head. " Never, if I 
have to fight you to get there, Daddy." 

" I can't keep it for ever, Tom. It's 
beyond all reason. I'm going to lay it down 
before all London at the Fives Courts next 
year, and it's to you that I want to hand it. 
I couldn't train down to it now, lad. My 
day's done." 

44 Well, Dad, I'll never bid for it till you 
choose to stand aside. After that, it is as it 
may be." 

" Well, have a rest, Tom ; wait for your 
chance, and, meantime, there's always a bed 
and crust for you here." 

Spring struck his clenched fist on his knee. 
" I know, Daddy ! Ever since I came up 
from Fownthorpe you've been as good as a 
father to me." 

" I've an eye for a winner." 

" A pretty winner ! Beat in forty rounds 
by Ned Painter." 

"You had beat him first." 

" And, by the Lord, I will again ! " 

"So you will, lad. George Nicholls would 
never give me another shy. Knew too much, 
he did. Bought a butcher's shop in Bristol 
with the money, and there he is to this day." 

"Yes, I'll come back on Painter; but I 
haven't a shilling left. My backers have lost 
faith in me. If it wasn't for you, Daddy, I'd 
be in the kennel." 

"Have you nothing left, Tom?" 

"Not the price of a meal. I left every 
penny I had, and my good name as well, in 
the ring at Kingston. I'm hard put to it to 
live unless I can get another fight, and who's 
goin' to back me now?" 

"Tut, man! the knowing ones will back 
you. You're the top of the list, for all Ned 
Painter. But there are other ways a man 
may earn a bit. There was a lady in here 
this morning — nothing flash, boy, a real tip- 
top out-and-outer with a coronet on her coach, 
asking after you." 

" Asking after me ! A lady ! " The young 
pugilist stood up with surprise and a certain 
horror rising in his eyes. " You don't mean, 
Daddy " 

" 1 mean nothing but what is honest, my 
lad. You can lay to that ! " 

" You said I could earn a bit." 

" So, perhaps, you can. Enough, anyhow, 
to tide you over your bad time. There's 
something in the wind there. It's to do with 
fightin'. She asked questions about your 
height, weight, and my opinion of your pros- 
pect. You can lay that my answers did you 
no harm." 

" She ain't makin' a match, surely ? " 

by LiOOgLC 

" Well, she seemed to know a tidy bit 
about it. She asked about George Cooper, 
and Richmond the Black, and Tom Oliver, 
always comin' back to you, and wantin' to 
know if you were not the pick of the bunch. 
And trustworthy. That was the other point. 
Could she trust you ? Lord, Tom, if you 
was a fightin' archangel you could hardly live 
up to the character that I've given you." 

A drawer looked in from the bar. 

" If you please, Mr. Cribb, the lady's 
carriage is back again." 

The Champion laid down his long clay 

"This way, lad," said he, plucking his 
young friend by the sleeve towards the side 
window. " Look there, now ! Saw you ever 
a more slap-up carriage ? See, too, the pair 
of bays— two hundred guineas apiece. Coach- 
man, too, and footman — you'd find 'em hard 
to beat. There she is now, stepping out of 
it. Wait here, lad, till I do the honours 
of my house." 

Tom Cribb slipped off, and young Spring 
remained by the window, tapping the glass 
nervously with his fingers, for he was a simple- 
minded country lad with no knowledge of 
women, and many fears of the traps which 
await the unwary in a great city. Many 
stories were afloat of pugilists who had been 
taken up and cast aside again by wealthy 
ladies, even as the gladiators were in decadent 
Rome. It was with some suspicion, therefore, 
and considerable inward trepidation that he 
faced round as a tall veiled figure swept into 
the room. He was much consoled, however, 
to observe the bulky form of Tom Cribb 
immediately behind her, as a proof that the 
interview was not to be a private one. When 
the door was closed the lady very deliberately 
removed her gloves. Then with fingers which 
glittered with diamonds she slowly rolled up 
and adjusted her heavy veil. Finally, she 
turned her face upon Spring. 

" Is this the man ? " said she. 
They stood looking at each other with 
mutual interest, which warmed in both their 
faces into mutual admiration. What she saw 
was as fine a figure of a joung man as 
England could show, none the less attractive 
for the restrained shyness of his manner and 
the blush which flushed his cheeks. What 
he saw was a woman of thirty, tall, dark, 
queen-like, and imperious, with a lovely face, 
every line and feature of which told of pride 
and breed, a woman born to Courts, with the 
instinct of command strong within her, and yet 
with all the softer woman's graces to temper 
and conceal the firmness of her soul. Tom 




Spring felt as he looked at her that he had 
never seen nor ever dreamed of anyone so 
beautiful, and yet he could not shake off the 
instinct which warned him to be upon his 
guard. Yes, it was beautiful, this face — 
beautiful beyond belief — but was it good, 
was it kind, was it true? There was some 
strange subconscious repulsion which mingled 
with his admiration for her loveliness. As to 
the lady's thoughts, she had already put away 
all idea of the young pugilist as a man, and 
regarded him now with critical eyes as a 
machine designed for a definite purpose. 

" I am glad to meet you, Mr. — Mr. Spring," 
said she, looking him over with as much 
deliberation as a dealer who is purchasing a 
horse. " He is hardly as tall as I was given 
to understand, Mr. Cribb. You said six feet, 
I believe?" 

" So he is, ma'am, but he carries it so easy. 
It's only the beanstalk that looks tall. See 
here, I'm six foot myself, and our heads are 
level, except I've lost my fluff." 

" What is the chest measurement? " 

" Forty-three inches, ma'am." 

11 You certainly seem to be a very strong 
young man. And a game one, too, I hope ? " 

Young Spring shrugged his shoulders. 

" It's not for me to say, ma'am." 

" I can speak for that, ma'am," said Cribb. 
" You read the Sporting Chronicle for three 
weeks ago, ma'am. You'll see how he stood 
up to Ned Painter until his senses were beat 
out of him. I waited on him, ma'am, and I 
know. I could show you my waistcoat now — 
that would let you guess what punishment he 
can take." 

The lady waved aside the illustration. 

11 But he was beat," said she, coldly. " The 
man who beat him must be the better man " 

"Saving your presence, ma'am, I think 
not, and outside Gentleman Jackson my 
judgment would stand against any in the 
ring. My lad here has beat Painter once, 
and will again if your ladyship could see your 
way to find the battle-money." 

The lady started and looked angrily at the 

"Why do you call me that?" 

" I beg pardon. It was just my way of 

" I order you not to do it again." 

"Very good, ma'am." 

"I am here incognita. I bind you both 
upon your honours to make no inquiry as to 
who I am. If I do not get your firm promise 
the matter ends here." 

" Very good, ma'am. I'll promise for my 
own part, and so, I am sure, will Spring. 

Digitized by ^OOQ IC 

But if I may be so bold, I can't help 
my drawers and potmen talking with your 
servants." f 

"The coachman and footman know* just 
as much about me as you do. But my*time 
is limited, so I must get to business. I 
think, Mr. Spring, that you are in want of 
something to do at present ? " 

" That is so, ma'am." 

" I understand from Mr. Cribb that you 
are prepared to fight anyone at any weight ? " 

"Anything on two legs," cried the 

"Who did you wish me to fight? "asked 
the young pugilist. 

"That cannot concern you. If you are 
really ready to fight anyone, then the parti- 
cular name can be of no importance. I 
have my reasons for withholding it." 

" Very good, ma'am." 

" You have been only a few weeks out of 
training. How long would it take you to 
get back to your best ? " 

" Three weeks or a month." 

"Well, then, I will pay your training 
expenses and two pounds a week over. 
Here are five pounds as a guarantee. You 
will fight when I consider that you are ready, 
and that the circumstances are favourable. 
If you win your fight, you shall have fifty 
pounds. Are you satisfied with the terms ? " 

" Very handsome, ma'am, I'm sure." 

u And remember, Mr. Spring, I choose 
you, not because you are the best man — for 
there are two opinions about that — but 
because I am given to understand that you 
are a decent man whom I can trust. The 
terms of this match are to be secret." 

" I understand that. I'll say nothing." 

"It is a private match. Nothing more. 
You will begin your training to-morrow." 

"Very good, ma'am." 

" I will ask Mr. Cribb to train you." 

" I'll do that, ma'am, with pleasure. But, 
by your leave, does he have anything if he 

A spasm of emotion passed over the 
woman's face and her hands clenched white 
with passion. 

" If he loses, not a penny, not a penny ! " 
she cried. " He must not, shall not lose ! " 

"Well, ma'am," said Spring, "I've never 
heard of any such match. But it's true that 
I am down at heel, and beggars can't be 
choosers. I'll do just what you say. I'll 
train till you give the word, and then I'll 
fight where you tell me. I hope you'll make 
it a large ring." 

"Yes," said she ; "it will be a large ring." 





" And how far from London ? " 

"Within a hundred miles* Have you 
anything else to say? My time is up. JJ 

"I'd like to ask, ma'am," said the Cham- 
pion, earnestly, '* whether I can act as the 
lad's second when the time comes, I've 
waited on him the last two fights. Can I 
give him a knee? " 

"No," said the woman, sharply. Without 
another word she turned and was gone, 
shutting the door behind her. A few 
moments later the trim carriage flashed past 
the window, turned down the crowded 
Hay market, and enrolled in the: traffic, 

The two men looked at each other in 

"Well, blow my dicky, if this don't beat 
cock-fightin' ! " cried Tom Cribb, at last. 
11 Anyhow, there's the fiver, lad* But it's a 
mm go, and no mistake about it" 

After due consultation it was agreed that 

Digitized by OOOgle 

Tom Spring 
should go into 
training at the 
Castle Inn on 
Heath, so that 
Cnbb could drive 
over and watch 
him. Thither 
Spring went upon 
the day after the 
interview with 
his patroness, 
and he set to 
work at once 
with drugs, 
dumb-bells, and 
breathers on the 
common to get 
himself into con- 
dition. It was 
hard, however, to 
take the matter 
seriously, and his 
good - natured 
trainer found 
the same diffi 

"It's the baccy 
I miss, Daddy," 1 
said the young 
pugilist, as they 
sat together on 
the afternoon of 
the third day. 
'* Surely there 
can't be any 
harm in my havin' a pipe ? 4t 

"Well, well, lad, it's against myconscience. 
but here's my box and there's a yard o clay,* 
said the Cham [lion. "My word, I don't know 
what Captain Barclay of Ury would have said 
if he had seen a man smoke when he was 
in train in' ! He was the man to work you ! 
He had me down from sixteen to thirteen 
the second time I fought the Black " 

Spring had lit his pipe and was leaning 
back amid a ha/e of blue smoke. 

1( It was easy for you. Daddy, to keep strict 
trainin' when you knew what was before you. 
You had your date and your place and your 
man You knew that in a month you would 
jump the ropes with ten thousand folk round 
you, and carrying maybe a hundred thousand 
in bets* You knew also the man you had 
to meet, and you wouldn't give him the better 
of you* But it's all different with me. For 
all I know this is just a woman's whim, and 
will end in nothing. If I was sure it was 




serious I'd break this pipe before I would 
smoke it." 

Tom Cribb scratched his head in puzzle- 

" I can make nothing of it, lad, 'cept that 
her money is good. Come to think of it, how 
many men on the list could stand up to you 
for half an hour ? It can't be Stringer, 'cause 
you've beat him. Then there's Cooper ; but 
he's up Newcastle way. It can't be him. 
There's Richmond, but you wouldn't need to 
take your coat off to beat him. There's the 
Gasman ; but he's not twelve stone. And 
there's Bill Neat of Bristol. That's it, lad. 
The lady has taken into her head to put you 
up against either the Gasman or Bill Neat." 

" But why not say so? I'd train hard for 
the Gasman and harder for Bill Neat, but I'm 
blowed if I can train with any heart when 
I'm fightin' nobody in particular and every- 
body in general, same as now." 

There was a sudden interruption to the 
speculations of the two prize-fighters. The 
door opened and the lady entered. As her 
eyes fell upon the two men her dark, hand- 
some face flushed with anger, and she gazed 
at them silently With an expression of con- 
tempt which brought them both to their feet 
with hang-dog faces. There they stood, their 
long, reeking pipes in their hands, shuffling 
and downcast, like two great, rough mastiffs 
before an angry mistress. 

" So ! " said she, stamping her foot furiously. 
" And this is training ! " 

" I'm sure we're very sorry, ma'am," said 
the abashed Champion. " I didn't think — I 
never for one moment supposed " 

"That I would come myself to see if 
you w T ere taking my money on false pre- 
tences? No, I dare say not. You fool ! " she 
blazed, turning suddenly upon Tom Spring. 
" You'll be beat. That will be the end of it/' 

The young man looked up with an angry 

" I'll trouble you not to call me names, 
ma'am. I've my self-respect, the same as 
you. I'll allow that I shouldn't have smoked 
when I was in trainin'. But I was saying to 
Tom Cribb here, just before you came in, 
that if you would give over treatin' us as if 
we were children, and if you would tell us 
just who it is you want me to fight, and 
when, and where, it would be a deal easier 
for me to take myself in hand." 

" It's true, ma'am, ' : said the Champion. 
" I know it must be either the Gasman or 
Bill Neat. There's no one else. So give me 
the office, and I'll promise to have him as fit 
as a trout on the day." 


The lady laughed contemptuously. 

"Do you think," said she, "that no one 
can fight save those who make a living by 

"By George, it's an amateur ! " cried Cribb, 
in amazement. " But you don't surely ask 
Tom Spring to train for three weeks to meet 
a Corinthian?" 

" I will say nothing more of who it is. It 
is no business of yours," the lady answered, 
fiercely. "All I do say is that if you do not 
train I will cast you aside and take someone 
who will. Do not think you can fool me 
because I am a woman. I have learned the 
points of the game as well as any man." 

" I saw that the very first word you spoke," 
said Cribb. 

" Then don't forget it. I will not warn you 
again. If I have occasion to find fault I 
shall choose another man." 

"And you won't tell me who I am to 

" Not a word. But you can take it from 
me that at your very best it will take you, or 
any man in England, all your time to master 
him. Now, get back this instant to your 
work, and never let me find you shirking it 
again." With imperious eyes she looked the 
two strong men down, and then, turning on 
her heel, she swept out of the room. The 
Champion whistled as the door closed behind 
her, and mopped his brow with his red 
bandanna handkerchief as. he looked across 
at his abashed companion. " My word, lad," 
said he, "it's earnest from this day on." 

" Yes," said Tom Spring, solemnly, " it's 
earnest from this day on." 

In the course of the next fortnight the lady 
made several surprise visits to see that her 
champion was being properly prepared for the 
contest which lay before him. At the most 
unexpected moments she would burst into the 
training quarters, but never again had she to 
complain of any slackness upon his part or that 
of his trainer. With long bouts of the gloves, 
with thirty-mile walks, with mile runs at 
the back of a mail-cart with a bit of blood 
between the shafts, with interminable series 
of jumps with a skipping-rope, he was sweated 
down until his trainer was able to proudly 
proclaim that "the last ounce of tallow is off 
him and he is ready to fight for his life." 
Only once was the lady accompanied by any- 
one upon these visits of inspection Upon 
this occasion a tall young man was her com- 
panion. He was graceful in figure, aristo- 
cratic in his bearing, and would have been 
strikingly handsome had it not been for some 


i 4 4 


accident which had shattered his nose and 
broken all the symmetry of his features. He 
stood in silence with moody eyes and folded 
arms, looking at the splendid torso of the 
prize-fighter as, stripped to the waist, he 
worked with his dumb- bells, 

11 Don't you think he will do ? J ' said the lady. 


The young swell shrugged his shoulders. 

" I don't like it, taramta, I can't pretend 
that I like it." 

"You must like it, George. I have set my 
very heart on it." 

"It is not English, you know. Lucrezia 
Borgia and Mediaeval Italy. Woman's love 
and woman's hatred are always the same, 

Digitized by vjOOQ IC 

but this particular manifestation of it seems 
to me out of place in nineteenth-century 
London/ 1 

"Is not a lesson needed ? ,J 
" Yes, yes ; but one would think there were 
other ways/' 

" You tried another way. What did you 

get out of that ?" 
The young man 
smiled rather 
grimly, as he 
turned up his cuff 
and looked at a 
puckered hole in 
his wrist 

"Not much, 
certainly/ said he. 
"You've tried 
and failed/ 1 

"Yes, I must 
admit it" 

" What else is 
t h e r e P The 

"Good gra- 
cious, no ! M 

"Then it is my 
turn, George, and 
I won't be 

ki I don't think 
anyone is capable 
of balking you, 
cam mm. Cer- 
tainly I, for one, 
should never 
dream of trying, 
Hut I don't feel 
as jf I could co- 

" I never asked 
you to." 

" No, you cer- 
tainly never did 
You are perfectly 
capable of doing 
it alone* I think, 
with your leave, 
if you have quite 
done with your 
prize-fighter, we 
will drive back to London. 1 would not for 
tjie world miss Goldoni in the Opera/' 

So they drifted away ; he, frivolous and 
dilettante ; she with her face as set as hate, 
leaving the fighting men to their business. 

And now the day came when Cribb was 
able to announce to his employer that his 
man was as fit as science could make him. 





44 1 can do no more, maam. He's fit to 
fight for a kingdom. Another week would 
see him stale " 

The lady looked Spring over with the eye 
of a connoisseur. 

*• I think he does you credit/' she said at 
last. " To day is Tuesday. He will fight the 
day after to-morrow. ' 

44 Very good, ma'am. Where shall he go ? " 

44 I will tell you exactly, and you will please 
take careful note of all that I say. You, Mr. 
Cribb, will take your man down to the Golden 
Cross Inn at Charing Cross by nine o'clock 
on Wednesday morning. He will take the 
Brighton coach as far as Tunbridge Wells, 
where he will alight at the Royal Oak Arms. 
There he will take such refreshment as you 
advise before a fight. He will await at the 
Royal Oak Arms until he receives a message 
by word, or by letter, brought him by a groom 
in a mulberry livery. This message will give 
him his final instructions." 

41 And I am not to come ? " 

" No," said the lady. 

11 But surely, ma'am," he pleaded, " I may 
come as far as Tunbridge Wells ? It's hard 
on a man to train a cove for a fight and 
then to leave him." 

41 It can't be helped. You are too well 
known. Your arrival would spread all over 
the town, and my plans might suffer. It is 
quite out of the question that you should 

44 Well, I'll do what you tell me ; but it's 
main hard." 

44 I suppose," said Spring, "you would 
have me bring my fightin' shorts and my 
spiked shoes?" 

44 No ; you will kindly bring nothing what- 
ever which may point to your trade. I would 
have you wear just those clothes in which I 
saw you first, such clothes as any mechanic 
or artisan might be expected to wear." 

Tom Cribb's blank face had assumed an 
expression of absolute despair. 

44 No second, no clothes, no shoes — it 
don't seem regular. I give you my word, 
ma'am, I feel ashamed to be mixed up in such 
a fight. I don't know as you can call the thing 
a fight where there is no second. It's just 
a scramble — nothing more. I've gone too 
far to wash my hands of it now, but I wish 
I had never touched it." 

In spite of all professional misgivings on 
the part of the Champion and his pupil, the 
imperious will of the woman prevailed, and 
everything was carried out exactly as she had 
directed. At nine o'clock Tom Spring found 
himself upon the box-seat of the Brighton 

coach, and waved his hand in good-bye to 
burly Tom Cribb, who stood, the admired of 
a ring of waiters and ostlers, upon the door- 
step of the Golden Cross. It was in the 
pleasant season when summer is mellowing 
into autumn, and the first golden patches are 
seen amid the beeches and the ferns. The 
young country-bred lad breathed more freely 
when he had left the weary streets of South- 
wark and Lewisham behind him, and he 
watched with delight the glorious prospect 
as the coach, whirled along by six dapple 
greys, passed by the classic grounds of 
Knowle, or after crossing Riverside Hill 
looked down at the vast expanse of the 
Weald of Kent. Past Tunbridge School 
went the coach, and on through South- 
borough, until it wound down a steep, curv- 
ing road with strange outcrops of sandstone 
beside it, and halted before a great hostelry, 
bearing the name which had been given him 
in his directions. He descended, entered 
the coffee-room, and ordered the underdone 
steak which his trainer had recommended. 
Hardly had he finished it when a servant 
with a mulberry coat and a peculiarly expres- 
sionless face entered the apartment. 

44 Beg your pardon, sir, are you Mr. Spring 
— Mr. Thomas Spring, of London ? " 

44 That is my name, young man." 

44 Then the instructions which I had to 
give you are that you wait for one hour after 
your meal. After that time you will find 
me in a phaeton at the door, and I will drive 
you in the right direction." 

The young pugilist had never been 
daunted by any experience which had 
befallen him in the ring. The rough en- 
couragement of his backers, the surge and 
shouting of the multitude, and the sight of 
his opponent had always cheered his stout 
heart and excited him to prove himself worthy 
of being the centre of such a scene. But 
this loneliness and uncertainty were deadly. 
He flung himself down on the horsehair 
couch and tried to doze ; but his mind was 
too restless and excited. Finally he rose, 
and paced up and down the empty room. 
Suddenly he was aware of a great rubicund 
face which surveyed him from round the 
angle of the door. Its owner, seeing that he 
was observed, pushed forward into the room. 

44 1 beg pardon, sir," said he, 44 but surely 
I have the honour of talking to Mr. Thomas 

44 At your service," said the young man. 

41 Bless me ! I am vastly honoured to have 
you under my roof ! Cordery is my name, 
sir, landlord of this old-established inn, I 




thought that my eyes could not deceive me. 
I am a patron of the ring, sir, in my own 
humble way, and was present at Moulsey in 
September last, when you beat Jack Stringer 
of Rawcliflfe. A very fine fight, sir, and very 
handsomely fought, if I may make bold to 
say so. I have a right to an opinion, sir, for 
there's never been a fight for many a year in 
Kent or Sussex that you wouldn't find Joe 
Cordery at the ring-side. Ask Mr. Gregson 
at the Chop-house in Holborn, and he'll tell 
you about old Joe Cordery. By the way, Mr. 
Spring, I suppose it is not business that has 
brought you down into these parts? Anyone 
can sec with half an eye that you are trained 
to a hair. Fd take it very kindly if you 
would give me the office." 

It crossed Spring's mind that if he were 
frank with the landlord it was more than 
likely that he would receive more informa- 
tion than he could give. He was a man of 
his word, however, and he remembered his 
promise to his employer. 

"Just a quiet day in the countrv, Mr. 
Cordery. That's all." 

" Dear me ! I had hoped there was a mill 
in the wind. I've a nose for these things, 
Mr. Spring, and I thought I had a whiff of 
it. But, of course, you should know best. 
Perhaps you will drive round with me this 
afternoon and view the hop-gardens — just 
the right time of year, sir." 

Tom Spring was not very skilled in decep 
tion, and his stammering excuses may not 
have been very convincing to the landlord, 
or finally persuaded him that his original 
supposition was wrong. In the midst of the 
conversation, however, the waiter entered 
with the news that a phaeton was waiting at 
the door. The innkeeper's eyes shone with 
suspicion and eagerness. 

" I thought you said you knew no one in 
these parts, Mr. Spring ? " 

"Just one kind friend, Mr. Cordery, and 
he has sent his gig for me. It's likely that I 
will take the night coach to town. But I'll 
look in after an hour or two and have a dish 
of tea with you." 

Outside the mulberry servant was sitting 
behind a fine black horse in a phaeton, which 
had two seats in front and two behind. Tom 
Spring was about to climb up beside him, 
when the servant whispered that his direc 
tions were that he should sit behind. Then 
the phaeton whirled away, while the excited 
landlord, more convinced than ever that 
there was something in the wind, rushed into 
his stable yard with shrieks to his ostlers, 
and in a very few minutes was in hot pursuit, 

k xoogle 

waiting at every cross-roads until he could 
hear tidings of a black horse and a mulberry 

The phaeton meanwhile drove in the direc 
tion of Crowborough. Some miles out it 
turned from the high road into a narrow lane 
spanned by a tawny arch of beech trees. 
Through this golden tunnel a lady was walk- 
ing, tall and graceful, her back to the 
phaeton. As it came abreast of her she 
stood aside and looked up, while the coach- 
man pulled up the horse. 

" I trust that you are at your best," said 
she, looking very earnestly at the prize-fighter. 
"How do you feel?" 

" Pretty tidy, ma'am, I thank you." 

"I will get up beside you, Johnson. We 
have some way to go. You will drive through 
the Lower Warren, and then take the lane 
which skirts the Gravel Hanger. I will tell 
you where to stop. Go slowly, for we are 
not due for twenty minutes." 

Feeling as if the whole business was some 
extraordinary dream, the young pugilist passed 
through a network of secluded lanes, until 
the phaeton drew up at a wicket gate which 
led into a plantation of firs, choked with a 
thick undergrowth. Here the lady descended 
and beckoned Spring to alight. 

"Wait down the lane," said she to the 
coachman. "We shall be some little time. 
Now, Mr. Spring, will you kindly follow me ? 
I have written a letter which makes an 

She passed swiftly through the plantation 
by a tortuous path, then over a stile, and 
past another wood, loud with the deep 
chuckling of pheasants. At the farther side 
was a fine rolling park, studded with oak 
trees, and stretching away to a splendid 
Elizabethan mansion, with balustraded 
terraces athwart its front. Across the park, 
and making for the wood, a solitary figure 
was walking. 

The lady gripped the prize-fighter by the 

11 That's your man," said she. 

They were standing under the shadow of 
the trees, so that he was very visible to them, 
while they were out of his sight. Tom Spring 
looked hard at the man. who was still some 
hundreds of yards away, He was a tall, 
powerful fellow, clad in a blue coat with gilt 
buttons, which gleamed in the sun. He had 
white corded breeches and riding boots. He 
walked with a vigorous step, and with every 
few strides he struck his leg with a dog- 
whip which hunp from his wrist. There was 




a great suggestion of purpose and of energy 
in the man's appearance and bearing. 

" Why, he's a gentleman ! " said Spring. 
*' Look Vre, ma'am, this is all a bit out of my 
line. I've nothing against the man, and he 
can mean me no harm. What am I to do 
with him?" 

*' Fight him ! Smash him ! That is what 
you are here for." 

Tom Spring turned on his heel with disgust, 

14 I'm here to fight, ma'am, but not to 
smash a man who has no thought of fighting, 
It's off." 

" You don't like the look of him," hissed 
the woman, "You have met your master.' 1 

11 That is as may be. It is no job for me." 

The woman's face was white with vexation 
and anger, 

" You fool ! " she cried. " Is all to go 
wrong at the last 
minute? There 
are fifty pounds — 
here they are in 
this paper — would 
you refuse them ? " 

"It's a cowardly 
business* I won't 
do it." 

''Cowardly? You 
are giving the man 
two stone, and he 
can beat any 
amateur in Eng- 

The young pugi- 
list felt relieved. 
After all, if he cr mid 
fairly earn that fifty 
pounds, a good 
deal depended 
upon his winning 
it. If he could only 
be sure that this 
was a worthy and 
willing antagonist ! 

" How do you 
know he is so 
good? " he asked, 

** I ought to 
know. I am his 

As she spoke she 
turned, and was 
gone like a flash 
among the bushes. 
The man was quite 
close now, and 
Tom Spring's 
Scruples weakened 

as he looked at him. He was a powerful, 
broad chested fellow, about thirty, with a 
heavy, brutal face, great thatched eyebrows, 
and a hard-set mouth, He could not be 
less than fifteen stone in weight, and he 
carried himself like a trained athlete* As he 
swung along he suddenly caught a glimpse 
of Spring among the trees, and he at once 
quickened his pace and sprang over the stile 
which separated them. 

" Halloa ! n said he, halting a few yards 
from him, and staring him up and down. 
n Who the devil are you, and where the devil 
did you come from, and what the devil are 
you doing on my property?" 

His manner was even more offensive than 
his words. It brought a flush of anger to 
Spring's cheeks. 

11 See here, mister/' said he, "civil words 

by Google 


WHICH SEPArfAtfcJWlT^t&pni 




is cheap. You've no call to speak to me 
like that." 

" You infernal rascal ! " cried the other. 
" I'll show you the way out of that plantation 
with the toe of my boot Do you dare to 
stand there on my land and talk back at 
me?" He advanced with a menacing face 
and his dog-whip half raised. " Well, are you 
going ? " he cried, as he swung it into the air. 

Tom Spring jumped back to avoid the 
threatened blow. 

"Go slow, mister," said he. "It's only 
fair that you should know where you are. 
I'm Spring, the prize-fighter. Maybe you 
have heard my name." 

" I thought you were a rascal of that 
breed," said the man. " I've had the 
handling of one or two of you gentry before, 
and I never found one that could stand up to 
me for five minutes. Maybe you would like 
to try?" 

"If you hit me with that dog -whip, 
mister " 

" There, then ! " He gave the young man 
a vicious cut across the shoulder. " Will 
that help you to fight?" 

" I came here to fight," said Tom Spring, 
licking his dry lips. " You can drop that 
whip, mister, for I will fight. I'm a trained 
man and ready. But you would have it. 
Don't blame me." 

The man was stripping the blue coat from 
his broad shoulders. There was a sprigged 
satin vest beneath it, and they were hung 
together on an alder branch. 

" Trained, are you ? " he muttered. " By 
the Lord, I'll train you before I am through!" 

Any fears that Tom Spring may have had 
lest he should be taking some unfair advan- 
tage were set at rest by the man's assured 
manner and by the splendid physique, which 
became more apparent as he discarded a 
black satin tie, with a great ruby glowing in 
its centre, and threw aside the white collar 
which cramped his thick, muscular neck. He 
then, very deliberately, undid a pair of gold 
sleeve-links, and, rolling up his shirt-sleeves, 
disclosed two hairy and muscular arms, which 
would have served as a model for a sculptor. 

" Come nearer the stile," said he, when he 
had finished. "There is more room." 

The prize-fighter had kept pace with the 
preparations of his formidable antagonist. 
His own hat, coat, and vest hung suspended 
upon a bush. He advanced now into the 
open space which the other had indicated. 

" Ruffianing or fighting ? " asked the 
amateur, coolly. 

" Fighting." 

by Google 

"Very good," said the other. "Put up 
your hands, Spring. Try it out." 

They were standing facing one another in a 
grassy ring intersected by the path at the 
outlet of the wood. The insolent and over- 
bearing look had passed away from the 
amateur's face, but a grim half-smile was on 
his lips and his eyes shone fiercely from under 
his tufted brows. From the way in which he 
stood it was very clear that he was a past- 
master at the game. Tom Spring, as he 
paced lightly to right and left, looking for an 
opening, became suddenly aware that neither 
with Stringer nor with the redoubtable Painter 
himself had he ever faced a more business- 
like opponent. The amateur's left was well 
forward, his guard low, his body leaning back 
from the haunches, and his head well out of 
danger. Spring tried a light lead at the 
mark, and another at the face, but in an 
instant his adversary was on to him with a 
shower of sledge-hammer blows which it took 
him all his time to avoid. He sprang back, 
but there was no getting away from that whirl- 
wind of muscle and bone. A heavy blow 
beat down his guard ; a second landed on his 
shoulder, and over went the prize-fighter with 
the other on the top of him. Both sprang to 
their feet, glared at each other, and fell into 
position once more. 

There could be no doubt that the amateur 
was not only heavier, but also the harder and 
stronger man. Twice again he rushed Spring 
down, once by the weight of his blows, and 
once by closing and hurling him on to his 
back. Such falls might have shaken the fight 
out of a less game man, but to Tom Spring 
they were but incidents in his daily trade. 
Though bruised and winded he was always up 
again in an instant. Blood was trickling from 
his mouth, but his steadfast blue eyes told of 
the unshaken spirit within. 

He was accustomed now to his opponent's 
rushing tactics, and he was ready for them. 
The fourth round was the same as to attack, 
but it was very different in defence. Up to 
now the young man had given way and been 
fought down. This time he stood his ground. 
As his opponent rushed in he met him with 
a tremendous straight hit from his left hand, 
delivered with the full force of his body, and 
doubled in effect by the momentum of the 
charge. So stunning was the concussion that 
the pugilist himself recoiled from it across the 
grassy ring. The amateur staggered back and 
leaned his shoulder on a tree-trunk, his hand 
up to his face. 

" You'd best drop it," said Spring. " You'll 
get pepper if you don't," 




The other gave an inarticulate curse, and 
spat out a mouthful of blood. 
u Come on ! " said he. 
Even now the pugilist found that he had 
no light task before him. Warned by his 
misadventure, the heavier man no longer tried 
to win the battle at a rush, nor to beat down 
an accomplished boxer as he would a country 
hawbuck at a village fair. He fought with 
his head and his feet as well as with his 
hands. Spring had to admit in his heart that 
trained to the ring this man must have been 
a match for the best. His guard was strong, 
his counter was like lightning, he took punish- 
ment like a man of iron, and when he could 
safely close he always brought his lighter 
antagonist to the ground with a shattering 
fall. But the one stunning blow which he 
had courted before he was taught respect for 
his adversary weighed heavily on him all the 
time. His senses had lost something of their 
quickness and his blows of their sting. He 
was fighting, too, against a man who, of all 
the boxers who have made their names great, 
was the safest, the coolest, the least likely 
to give anything away, or lose an advantage 
gained. Slowly, gradually, round by round, 
he was worn down by his cool, quick- 
stepping, sharp-hitting antagonist. At last 
he stood exhausted, breathing hoarsely, 
his face, what could be seen of it, purple 
with his exertions. He had reached the 
limit of human endurance. His opponent 
stood waiting for him, bruised and beaten, 
but as cool, as ready, as dangerous as 
__^->-You'd best drop it, I tell you," said he. 
. w .ou're done." 

But the others manhood would not have 
it so. With a snarl of fury he cast his science 
to the winds, and rushed madly to slogging 
with both hands. For a moment Spring was 
overborne. Then he side-stepped swiftly ; 
there was the crash of his blow, and the 
amateur tossed up his arms and fell all 
asprawl, his great limbs outstretched, his 
disfigured face to the sky. 

For a moment Tom Spring stood looking 
down at his unconscious opponent. The 
next he felt a soft, warm hand upon his bare 
arm. The woman was at his elbow. 

" Now is your time ! " she cried, her dark 
eyes aflame. " Go in ! Smash him ! " 

Spring shook her off with a cry of disgust, 
but she was back in an instant. 

" I'll make it seventy-five pounds " 

"The fight's over, ma'am. I can't touch 

" A hundred pounds — a clear hundred ! 

I have it here in my bodice. Would you 
refuse a hundred ? " 

He turned on his heel. She darted past 
him, and tried to kick at the face of the 
prostrate man. Spring dragged her roughly 
away, before she could do him a mischief. 

"Stand clear!" he cried, giving her a 
shake. " You should take shame to hit a 
fallen man." 

With a groan the injured man turned on 
his side. Then he slowly sat up and passed 
his wet hand over his face. Finally, he 
staggered to his feet. 

"Well," he said, shrugging his broad 
shoulders, "it was a fair fight. Fve no 
complaint to make. I was Jackson's best 
pupil, but I give you best." Suddenly his 
eyes lit upon the furious face of the woman. 
" Halloa, Betty!" he cried. " So I have you 
to thank. I might have guessed it when I 
had your letter." 

"Yes, my lord," said she, with a mock 
curtsy. "You have me to thank. Your 
little wife managed it all. I lay behind those 
bushes, and I saw you beaten like a hound. 
You haven't had all that I had planned for you, 
but I think itwill be some little time before any 
woman loves you for the sake of your appear- 
ance. Do you remember the words, my 
lord ? Do you remember the words ? " 

He stood stunned for a moment. Then 
he snatched his whip from the ground, and 
looked at her from under his heavy brows. 

" I believe you're the devil ! " he cried. 

" I wonder what the governess will think ? " 
said she. 

He flared into furious rage and rushed at 
her with his whip. Tom Spring threw him- 
self before him with his arms out. 

" It won't do, sir ; I can't stand by." 

The man glared at his wife over the prize- 
fighter's shoulder. 

" So it's for dear George's sake ! " he said, 
with a bitter laugh. " But poor, broken-nosed 
George seems to have gone to the wall. 
Taken up with a prize-fighter, eh ? Found a 
fancy man for yourself ! " 

" You liar ! " she gasped. 

" Ha, my lady, that stings your pride, 
does it ? Well, you shall stand together in 
the dock for trespass and assault. What a 
picture — great Lord, what a picture ! " 

"You wouldn't, John!" 

" Wouldn't I, by ! You stay there 

three minutes and see if I wouldn't." He 
seized his clothes from the bush, and 
staggered off as swiftly as he could across the 
field, blowing a whistle as he ran. 

"Quick; quicks" cried the woman. 




"There's not an instant to lose," Her face 
was livid, and she was shivering and panting 
with apprehension. " He II raise the country. 
It wruild be awful- awful [ " 

She ran swiftly down the tortuous path, 
Spring following after her and dressing as he 
went. In a field to the right a gamekeeper, 
his gun in his hand, was hurrying towards 
the whistling. Two labourers, loading hay, 
had stopped their work and were looking 
about them, their pitchforks in their hands. 
But the path was empty, and the phaeton 
awaited them, the horse cropping the grass 
by the lane-side, the driver half asleep on his 
perch* The woman sprang swiftly in and 
motioned Spring to stand by the wheel 

"There is your fifty pounds/ 1 she said. 

handing him a 
paper. "You 
were a fool not 
to turn it into a 
hundred when 
you had the 
chance. I've 
done with you 

"But where 
am I to go? " 
asked the prize- 
fighter, gazing 
around him at 
the winding 

"To the 
devil ! " said she. 
11 Drive on, John- 
son ! " 

The phaeton 
whirled down 
the road and 
vanished round a 
curve, Tom 
Spring was alone. 
Everywh ere 
over the country- 
side he heard 
shoutings and 
whistlings. It was 
clear that so long 
as she escaped 
the indignity of 
sharing his fate 
his employer was 
perfectly indif- 
ferent as to 
whether he got 
into trouble or 
not. Tom Spring 
began to feel in- 
different himself. He was weary to death ; his 
head was aching from the blows and falls which 
he had received, and his feelings were raw 
from the treatment which he had undergone. 
He walked slowly some few yards down the 
lane, but had no idea which way to turn to 
reach Tunhridge Wells. In the distance he 
heard the baying of dogs, and he guessed that 
they were being set upon his track. In that 
case he could not hope to escape them, and 
might just as well await them where he was, 
lie picked out a heavy stake from the hedge, 
and he sat moodily down waiting, in a very 
dangerous temper, for what might befall 

But it was ^frkndiand.-not a foe who 

ifer rner of 



the lane flew a small dog-cart, with a fast- 
trotting chestnut cob between the shafts. In 
it was seated the rubicund landlord of the 
Royal Oak, his whip going, his face con- 
tinually flying round to glance behind him. 

"Jump in, Mr. Spring, jump in ! " he cried, 
as he reined up. " They're all coming, dogs 
and men ! Come on ! Now, hud dup, 
Ginger ! " Not another word did he say 
until two miles of lanes had been left behind 
them at racing speed and they were back in 
safety upon the Brighton road. Then he 
let the reins hang loose on the pony's back, 
and he slapped Tom Spring with his fat 
hand upon the shoulder. 

" Splendid ! " he cried, his great red face 
shining with ecstasy. "Oh, Lord! but it 
was beautiful ! " 

" What ! " cried Spring. li You saw the 
fight ? " 

" Every round of it ! By George ! to think 
that I should have lived to have had such a 
fight all to myself! Oh, but it was grand," 
he cried, in a frenzy of delight, " to see his 
lordship go down like a pitted ox and her 
ladyship clapping her hands behind the. 
bush ! I guessed there was something in 
the wind, and I followed you all the way. 
When you stopped I tethered little Ginger in 
a grove, and I crept after you through the 
wood. It's as well I did, for the whole 
parish was up ! " 

But Tom Spring was sitting gazing at him 
in blank amazement. 

" His lordship ! " he gasped. 

"No less, my boy. Lord Falconbridge, 
Chairman of the Bench, Deputy Lieutenant 
of the County, Peer of the Realm — that's 
your man." 

"Good Lord!" 

" And you didn't know ? It's as well, for 
maybe you wouldn't have whacked it in as 
hard if you did ; and, mind you, if you hadn't 
he'd have beat you. There's not a man in 
this county could stand up to him. He takes 
the poachers and gipsies two and three at a 
time. He's the terror of the place. But you 
did him — did him fair. Oh, man, it was 
fine ! " 

Tom Spring was too much dazed by what 
he heard to do more than sit and wonder. 
It was not until' he had got back to the 
comforts of the inn, and after a bath had 
partaken of a solid meal, that he sent for 
Mr. Cordeiy, the landlord. To him he con- 
fided the wfiyle train of events which had led 
up to his remarkable experience, and he 

by Google 

begged him to throw such light as he could 
upon it. Cordery listened with keen interest 
and many chuckles to the story. Finally he 
left the room and returned" with a frayed 
newspaper in his hand, which he smoothed 
out upon his knee. 

" It's the Pantiles Gazette^ Mr. Spring, as 
gossiping a rag as ever was printed. I expect 
there will be a fine column in it if ever 
it gets its prying nose into this day's doings. 
However, we are mum and her ladyship is 
mum, and, my word ! his lordship is mum, 
though he did, in his passion, raise the hue 
and cry on you ! Here it is, Mr. Spring, and 
I'll read it to you while you smoke your pipe. 
It's dated July of last year, and it goes like 
this :— 

" * Fracas in High Life. — It is an open 
secret that the differences which have for 
some years been known to exist between 

Lord F and his beautiful wife have come 

to a head during the last few days. His 
lordship's devotion to sport, and also, as it 
is whispered, some attentions which he has 
shown to a humbler member of his house- 
hold, have, it is said, long alienated Lady 

F 's affection. Of late she has sought 

consolation and friendship with a gentleman 
whom we will designate as Sir George, 
W n. Sir George, who is a famous lady- 
killer, and as well-proportioned a man as any 
in England, took kindly to the task of con- 
soling the disconsolate fair. The upshot, 
however, was vastly unfortunate, both for the 
lady's feelings and for the gentleman's beauty 
The two friends were surprised in a rendezvous 

near the house by Lord F himself at the 

head of a party of his servants. Lord F 

then and there, in spite of the shrieks of the 
lady, availed himself of his strength and skill 
to administer such punishment to the unfor- 
tunate Lothario as would, in his own parting 
words, prevent any woman from loving him 
again for the sake of his appearance. Lady 
F has left his lordship and betaken her- 
self to London, where, no doubt, she is now 
engaged in nursing the damaged Apollo. It 
is confidently expected that a duel will result 
from the affair, but no particulars have 
reached lis up to the hour of our going to 
press.' " 

The landlord laid down the paper 
"You've been moving in high life, Mr. 
Thomas Spring," said he. 

The pugilist passed his hand over his 
battered face. "Well, Mr. Cordery," said 
he, " low life is good enough for me." 

Original from 


The Origin, Romance, and Etiquette of the Various Decorations Worn 

by His Majesty. 

jHEN His Majesty goes abroad 
amongst his subjects on occa- 
sions of ceremony the least 
observant eye will note (under- 
Standingly or not y according to 
his knowledge) some details of 
the insignia he wears. Everyone is aware 
that the emblems of an order of knighthood 

It has been said that the desire to possess 
honorary distinctions has shown itself in 
various shapes from very remote times, and 
to be able to wear them on the person as 
evidence of some particular qualification in 
the individual has been an object of human 
ambition almost from time immemorial The 
Sovereign naturally leads the way; he is the 

are not restricted to one portion 
of the Royal person ; they may 
be worn on the right or left 
shoulder, across the bosom, 
on the left breast, around the 
neck, or suspended at the hip. 
It is probable that the broad 
blue ribbon of the Carter is 
familiar to all, but that it is 
equally possible ro wear the 
badge of the Garter round the 
neck, on the left shoulder, 
on the breast, or encircling the left leg 
is probably by no means known to all 
the lieges of this realm and Empire. To 
enable the reader to recognize the various 
decorations worn by His Majesty — as seen in 
his portraits or on the occasion of his appear- 
ances in public — to give him some knowledge 
of their origin and romantic history — is the 
aim of the present article. 






first man in the State ; he is 
himself the fountain of honour. 
But with the accumulation of 
honourable decorations at all 
the Courts of Europe, it grew 
impossible for one individual 
to wear all the chains, ribbons, 
medals, and crosses of which 
our King is the recipient. 
Consequently, a selection only 
can be worn, and this selection 
is governed by His Majesty's 
predilections and the nature of the occasion. 
Thus, at a purely British function, the display 
of the insignia of British orders and of British 
decorations is naturally the rule. 

But first of [ill let us see what the insignia 
of an order generally consist of. In the 
case of our order of greatest distinction, the 
Garter, they consist first of a habit, collar f 
badge, star, and the garter. In what is called 




Ln ihe aljove prKHo^r.iph the stars of ihe fmr coders wen on ibr left breast arc llnj** of the fi.irtcr, the Thistle, rbe 
St. Patrick, and the Huh. Suspended from the shoulders and running acros* the stars is the chain of the Garter, to which 
i% attached the jewel. Above the star* are the badges of vrniuus orders, whilst actors the right shoulder, 'suspending the 

badtjc at the hip, is the sash of [he Royal Victorian Order. 

a full chapter of the order, of the complete 
habit and insignia His Majesty would wear 
the collar, from which is suspended the 
* 4 George " (a gold and enamelled representa- 
tion of the St. George and the Dragon), 
together with the star (worn on the left 
breast). This full chapter of the habit is 
worn only on certain days, known as "collar 
days," On ordinary occasions— a Levee or 
a Court — His Majesty wears the ribbon over 

Vol. Kff*vi"i.— 20 

the left shoulder, from which is suspended 
the lesser George (an oval badge, wiih a 
representation of St. George and the Dragon), 
together with the star. The garter, which is 
worn only with breeches and bears the motto 
of the order — '* Honi soit qui mal y pense PJ 
— is worn below the knee on the left leg. 
Now, unless upon special occasions, only one 
of these emblem 3 would be worn. Even 

the Mstt^OroffE7HI5ftR UIMrous that 




it has been found necessary to fasten the 
small ones issued to Companions of any 
order in a closely packed row upon the left 
breast By this means it is possible for His 
Majesty to wear a great many orders and 
decorations. For, in addition to a row of, 
say, nine on the breast, he can carry four 
stars below, a ribbon suspending a badge 
across his breast, another round his neck, 
another fastened to his right shoulder, and 
another to his left, making in all seventeen 
decorations which Kiny Edward VII. can 
wear at oncc t whereas King lid ward VI, 

could only have worn 
three or four. 

When His Majesty 
desires to render ;he 
chief honour to a 
certain order he 
wears the badge or 
jewel pendent from 
the broad ribbon 
across his breast, or 
suspended from the 
collar, or the star. 
Otherwise the badge 
is fastened with 
others to the left 
breast. In the por- 
trait of the King, 
on page 153, he is 
shown wearing the 
ribbon and badge of 
the Royal Victorian 
Order ; from his 
neck is suspended 
the badge (or George) 
of the Garter, and a line of badges beginning 
with the Bath on the left breast. He wears 
the stars of the four senior British orders — 
the Garter, the Thistle, the St. Patrick, and 
the Bath. In addition His Majesty wears 
suspended from his left hip the white 
enamelled cross of the Royal Victorian 

To lovers of romance there is here an 
epitome in these stars and ribbons and 
badges of all that is romantic in seven centu- 
ries of history. Here are symbols of a 
world of chivalry, of valour, of poetry, and of 
piety. What, for instance, could be more 
charming than the tale of the founding of 
the Order of the Garter ? Everyone has 
heard how, at the Court of Edward II L, 
a lady chanced to drop her garter, which 
was picked up by the King. Observing 
the bystanders smile significantly, Edward 
exclaimed in a tone of rebuke, tl Honi 
soit qui mal y pense," and to prevent any 



further innuendoes he tied the garter round 
his own knee. This tradition, it may be 
remarked , is strictly in accordance with the 
romantic habits uf an age when devotion to 
woman was one of the first duties of knight- 
hood. To wear a lady's favour, her glove, 
ribbon, or any other personal article was 
in those days a common practice amongst 
knights, such being considered a treasured 
token or emprise. 

According to one Scottish legend an am; el 
plucked a thistle and placed it in the hair of 
a sleeping Scottish monarch, who, waking, 
founded the Order 
of the' Thistle. Ac- 
cording to a passage 
in the archives ol 
the order, " Achn- 
ius, King of Scots, 
did institute the 
most ancient and 
most noble Order 
of the Thistle under 
the protection of 
St. Andrew, in 
commemoration of 
a signal victory 
obtained by the said 
A chains over Athel- 
stan, King of the 
Saxons, after a 
bloody battle, in 
the time of which 
there appeared in 
the heavens a white 
cross in the form 
of that upon which 

the apostle St. Andrew suffered martyrdom/' 
The order consists of the Sovereign and 
sixteen knights. 

On the other hand, the Order of St. Patrick 
can boast little antiquity, being the result of 
George lIL's wish to manifest his regard for 
Ireland. It was founded in 1783, and since 
that time a long succession of distinguished 
men have been enrolled, selected from the 
most eminent for birth, rank, or personal 
achievement amongst the Irish peers. Every 
person of or above the rank of knight is 
eligible, but as a matter of fact only peers 
are elected 

The stars of the foregoing three orders, 
together with that of the Bath, are commonly 
worn, but if the King, for example, were greet- 
ing the Emperor of Russia or wished to do> 
honour to the Russian people he would wear, 
of course, the star, ribbon, and badge of ihe 
Russian order instead. But these and other 
foreign orders will be described later. 




r 55 

Her late Majesty Queen Victoria took the 
deepest interest in the founding of the Royal 
Victorian Order {which can be seen sus- 
pended from a chain round the King's neck) 
in 1896, and the King has shown a great 
partiality towards It. The members 
are to be " such persons, being sub- 
jects of our Crown, as may have 
rendered or may hereafter render 
extraordinary or important or personal 
services to Us, our heirs and suc- 
cessors, who have merited or may 
hereafter merit our Royal favour, or 
any persons who may hereafter be 
appointed officers of the Royal 
order/' Since the decease of Queen 
Victoria the already wide scope of the 
order has been further enlarged. It 
is frequently conferred when the King 
is abroad on purely ceremonial 
occasions, and without any necessary 
regard to the central idea of personal service 
rendered to the Sovereign, This is entirely 
in keeping, however, with the funda- 
mental principle of the order — viz., 
that it is the Sovereign's private 

Let us first attend to the British 
decorations. Beginning with the 
badges on the breast, which have in 
the second large portrait been placed 
in three rows for the sake of illustra- 
tion, the first (1) is that of the Bath. 
The last Knights of the Rath made 
according to the ancient forms were 
at the coronation of Charles IL f when 
various rites and ceremonies — one of 
which was bathing — were enforced, 
readily be understood that bathing was no 
light undertaking in the Dark Ages, but 
doubtless there were 
Sir Galahads who 
believed that cleanli- 
ness was next to god- 
liness, and an order 
involving daily, or at 
least weekly, Immer- 
sion on the parts of 
its valiant members 
sprang into being. 

According to Frois- 
sart, the Court barber 
prepared a bath, and 
the candidate for 
membership in the 
order, h a v i ng bee n 

undressed by his esquires, was thereupon 
placed in the bath, his clothes and collars 
being the perquisites of the barber. He was 



It can 


then removed from the water to the words, 
41 May this be an honourable bath to you/ 1 
and was placed in a plain bed quite wet and 
naked to dry. As soon as he wns quite dry 
he was removed from the bed, dressed in new 
and rich apparel, and conducted by 
his sponsors to the chapel, where he 
offered a taper to the honour of God 
and a penny piece to the honour of 
the King- Then he went to the 
monarch and, kneeling before him, 
he received from the Royal sword a 
tap on the shoulder, the King ex- 
claiming, "Arise, Sir— — /'and then 
embraced him, saying, "Be thou a 
good knight, and true." 

Not until 1725, however, did the 
Bath become l4 a regular military 
order," subsequent modifications 
allowing civilians to be admitted. 
The badge is a gold Maltese cross of 
eight points enamelled argent, worn on State 
occasions pendent from a broad red ribbon 
across the right shoulder. 

The Order of the Star of India {2) 
owed its inception, in 1861, to the 
need of rewarding the late Queen's 
servants in India. 

In a similar way, in i8rS, not long 
after the cession of Malta to Great 
Britain and the submission of the 
Ionian Isles, it was deemed advisable 
to institute an order of knighthood 
for the purpose of bestowing marks 
of Royal favour on the most meri- 
torious of lonians and Maltese as well 
as on British subjects of distinction 
in the Mediterranean. From this has sprung 
the Most Distinguished Order of St. Michael 
and St. George (3}, as we know it today. It 

h^s now become the 
great Colonial deco- 
ration, its members 
gaining knighthood 
therel)y. I ne badge 
is a gold cross of four- 
teen points of white 

The next is the 

Order of the Indian 

Empire (4), and was 

instituted on January 

jst, 1878, to reward 

services rendered to 

her late Majesty 

Queen Victoria and 

her Indian Empire and to commemorate the 

proclamation <;f her style nnd title of Empress 

of 9l , rfi'ERSJT , P?n B i«lCflia*!fi Sovereign {His 





The Kiojj 's Orders neen in the aliove photograph are as follows r Suspended from the small chain is the Royal Victorian 
Order, I, the Bmh ; 3. the ^tnr of India; 3, St. Mm had urd St, George; 4, I he Indian Kmpirc; 5, ihe. Imperial Service 
Order; 6, Volunteer Officers 1 Decoration; 7, \ T ktori*n Jubilee Medal; £, Coronation Med.1l; a t Bhck Kn^lc of Prussia; 
ic P lied Eagk nf Prussia; it, Snare- CobiiTg Golha : 13, Fn-derirk of Wurtemberg; ij p St, Olaf of Norway ; 14, Qsman of 
Turkey j i>, Medjidie of Turkey ; i6i Redeemer of Greece : iy r Christ of Pomjpjfiil ; j(3 T Dafinrbrog of Itemmirk ; 19, Orange- 
Nassau of Holl.icid; 20, the Vaaa of Sweden ; 21, Chry>anthemuniof J;-pan ; az t Legion of Honour uf Francis 

Majesty King Edward VII.), Grand Master, 
and three classes, the members of which are 
styled Knights, Grand Commanders, and 
Companions. The Viceroy of India is pro 
tern, the Grand Master of the order. 

The members of the order are such persons 
as have meriLed the Royal favour by their 
services to the Indian Empire and such 
distinguished representatives of Eastern 

potentates as the Sovereign may think fit. 
In it)Oi temporary provision was made for 
the admission into all three classes of the 
order of persons in consideration of services 
rendered during the South African War and 
in China, 

Much coveted is the Imperial Service Order 
(5) j also the Volunteer olTictirs 1 decoration (6), 

At thtihl^HR^VM!^ Kf€»F3Wt-J J u,,ilee a 






medal (7) in 
cottimem o- 
r at ion was 
struck, which 
was grea 1 1 y 
sought by all 
ranks, and 
his present 
Majesty, on all 
occasions, is 
proud to wear 
the decora- 

The Coro- 
nation Medal 
(8) is the 
last decoration of the kind. 

So much for our native orders and decora- 
lions. We now come to the foreign orders, 
many of which are as highly prized. It 
must he understood that we are not here 
speaking of them in a 
sequence of their merit 
or antiquity, but taking 
them as they are most fre- 
quently worn by His Majesty. 
Of the Black Eagle of Prussia 
(9), founded in 1691 by 
Frederick I«, the badge con- 
sists of an eight - pointed 
cross* blue enamelled, with 
the initials in monogram, 
"R R,,"and a black eagle 
with expanded wings, between 
each ol the arms of the cross. 
The Knights of the Black 
Eagle are also Knights of the 
Red Eagle (io), which order 
began by bein^ the " Ordre de la Sincerity." 
When it was reorganized as the " Brandenburg 
Red Eagle* w the number of members was 
limited to thirty, who could show their noble 
descent through eight generations by both 
parents. The decora- 
tion is a golden white- 
enamelled Maltese 
cross, the centre being 
enamelled with a red 

Naturally, the King 
gives some precedence 
to the family Order of 
Saxe - Coburg ilotha 
(u), which was origin 
ally founded as a re- 
ward for the distingui- 
shed services of high 
State functionaries. It a 
commoner is honoured 

If 1 





with the 
Grand Cross 
of this order, 
he enters into 
all the rights 
and privileges 
peculiar to the 
hereditary no 
bility. The 
badge is a 
gold and white 
cross, wi t h 
gold balls at 
the points. 
In the angles 
are four gold lions. The Order of Frederick 
of Wiirtemberg (12) confers personal nobility 
and gives free access to Court. The badge 
is a gold, white-enamelled cross, with rays of 
bright gold in the angles. The Order of St 
Olaf of Norway (13) is re- 
markable as being the first 
independent order that 
country could boast, It was 
founded to commemorate 
Olaf, who in 10 15 freed 
Norway from Denmark and 
introduced Christianity into 
the realm. It is for all 
classes who distinguish them- 
selves in patriotism or the 
'arts or sciences. It consists 
of an octagonal golden cross> 
white enamelled and sur- 
mounted by a Royal crown. 
It is related that the great 
Humboldt's life was once 
bullet by his wearing this 



saved from 


Qsman of Turkey {14) is a recent order 

much favoured by the late Sultan, 

It would be hnrd to find an order, even 
the Legion of Honour, 
more business- like in 
its proceedings than 
the Medjidie of Turkey 
(15). It was founded 
in 1852 as reward for 
distinguished services* 
The board or council 
meets once a month 
for the dispatch of 
business and to con- 
sider the state of the 
order and the character 
of the members, Vet 
half a century before, 
wrRTE\!iiKKt; 1L11 . J1 - P j4oJt.wAy f . LJ ~ JfflbGO- L1 Sultan Selirn 






founded the Order of the Crescent, he did 
not dare to give it to any but foreigners, 
owing to the prejudices of his subjects. 
Nelson was the first who received it. 

The Order of the Redeemer of Greece 
{16) is interesting on account of its com- 
memorating the deliverance of that kingdom. 
No member can appear before the King or 
Princes of the Blood Royal, or on public 
festivals, without the decoration* 

One of the most famous and ancient 
orders is that of Christ of Portugal (17), 
which is lineally descended from the Tem- 
plars, When that order was abolished in 

overboard after it. He did not return, but 
next day, when his body was washed ashore, 
the Order of Christ was found fastened round 
his neck ! The badge is a white cross on a 
red ground. 

As to the Order of the Dannebrog (18), 
the family order of Den mark , it is, of course, 
highly prized by His Majesty, Its founda- 
tion was due to a miracle- Tradition relates 
that when in 1219 the Knights of the 
Sword became hard pressed by the heathen 
Esthonians, Waldernar of Denmark came to 
their assistance. In the battle against the 
Esthonians and Russians the ranks of his 







(Den mark). 



(J ;3 P«0. 


France by Philip le IJel, its property con- 
fiscated, and the members persecuted and 
expelled, it was revived in Portugal, where it 
flourished as the " Knighthood of our Lord 
Jesus Christ." To such wealth and power 
did the order grow that subsequent Kings of 
Portugal began to fear for their own authority. 
For a long time the members were bound to 
make the three vows of chastity, poverty, and 
obedience, until released from the two first 
by Pope Alexander VL It is related of 
Manuel Briga, a knight, that, losing the 
badge of the order at sea, he instantly leaped 

own troops were sadly thinned. They h:id 
lost their standard and were on the point of 
flight, when lo ! a red flag bearing a white 
cross appeared in the heavens. At this sight 
the Danes rallied and gallantly vanquished 
the foe. The heavenly flag thenceforward 
became an ensign, and the Order of the 
Dannebrog was founded by Waldemar II, 

The next order is Orange Nassau (Holland) 
(19), while following is the Order of Vasa of 
Sweden (20), Far more interesting than 
these is the Order of the Chrysanthemum of 


1 59 

special occasions. France has now no orders 
save that of the Legion of Honour (22). 

Thus far we have enumerated the badges 
commonly worn by His Majesty, It will be 
seen that these by no means comprise the 
most ancient or most romantic orders, some 
of which are represented at the 
same time on the Royal breast 
by the various stars. 

Perhaps one of the most dis- 
tinguished of the insignia worn by 
the King is that of the Golden 
Fleece, founded by Philip le Bon, 
Duke of Burgundy, in 1429, of 
which a whole volume might be 
written. The insignia consist of 
a Golden Fleece hanging on a 
blue enamelled flint stone, emit- 
ting flames of fire and borne in 
its turn by a ray of fire* Above 
are inscribed the words, " Pre- 
tiurn laborum non vile*' (Not a 
bad reward for labour). Formerly 
the chain by which this was 
suspended was so heavy that many 
aged recipients are said to have 
fainted under the load, Charles 
V. considerately substituted a 
ribbon for ordinary occasions. 

According to the principal pro- 
visions of the statutes of the 
order the duty of the member 
was to assist the head in war and 
other perilous situations. Members 
could not, without special permission, enter 
any foreign service, and if there were any 
treason or cowardice in war the order was to 
be forfeited. 

The annual festival of the 
order is celebrated at Vienna 
on St. Andrew's Day, or on 
the following Sunday, The 
Emperor and all the knights 
then present at Vienna repair 
in procession and full costume 
to the Court chapel to hear 
divine service, and thence 
return to the castle to dine at 
open table in the " Knights* 

The Apostolic Order of St 
Stephen was intended by 
Maria Theresa, when she 
founded it in 1764, to be the National Order 
of Hungary. SL Stephen was the founder 
of the Hungarian kingdom, and the annual 
festival of the order is held on St, Stephen's 
Day (zfith December). >*- 

Even the King of England might be proud 






of his knighthood in the Order of the 
Annunciation. This was founded by Count 
Aniadeus of Savoy, historians being doubtful 
whether owing to an act of gallantry or one 
of piety. Probably love and religion both 
At first, and all through the Middle 
Ages, the number fifteen was 
celebrated. Fifteen Carthusian 
priors were ordered to read mass 
daily in honour of the fifteen joys 
of the Blessed Virgin and for the 
welfare of fifteen knights. The 
history of the order is full of 
romance. On the star is a repre- 
sentation of the Annunciation, 
surrounded by love -knots. It is 
usually worn suspended by a 
simple gold chain, except on the 
nomination and the two following 
days, on the great festivals of the 
year, the Corpus Christi, the 
festivals of the Blessed Virgin* 
the Circumcision, the festival of 
St. Maurice {the patron of Savoy), 
as also on the day when the 
knights take the sacrament, and 
on the eve of a battle, when the 
knights are wont to assemble 
round a standard. It has been 
an impressive spectacle witnessed 
on many occasions in history, 
the ceremony of the knights 
assembled, fully armed, just before 
they fell upon the enemy and 
or defeat awaited them on the 



St. Andrew is the patron saint of Russia, 
and his order was founded 
by Peter the Great "to initi- 
ate his own Court in the 
refinement of the civilized 
Courts of Europe/* The first 
who obtained the order was 
Chancellor Field - Marshal 
Admiral Golovin, who in turn 
performed the ceremonies of 
investiture with regard to 
Peter after the latter J s naval 
victory over the Swedes. It 
corresponds to the English 
Order of the Garter, and is 
conferred with the same 
exclusiveness as the Italian 
Order of the Annunciation, There are but 
two ladies upon whom it has ever been con- 
ferred — the present Czarina and the widowed 
Empress, Each received it on the occasion 
of her coronation The insignia consist of 




(R u ssia). 



formed of St Andrew's cross surmounted by 
an Imperial crown. On ordinary occasions 
this medallion is worn on the left hip, 
attached to a blue ribbon 
crossing the breast to the 
right shoulder, while on the 
left breast is worn a silver 
star on which the St. 
Andrew's cross and crown 
are reproduced in enamel. 
The possession of the Order 
of St. Andrew carries with 
it all the other Russian 
decorations with the excep- 
tion of the St. George, which 
is conferred exclusively for 
exceptional bravery. 

Another order of Russia 
Is the White Eagle. Al- 
though it is mentioned in 
the time of Vladimir IV-, the 
real foundation ol the White 
Eagle dates from the year 
decoration is not unlike that of the Maltese 
Cross, and consists of a cross 
containing upon its face 
the White Eagle with ex- 
panded wings, with gold 
flames in the corners. After 
the division of Poland, in 
1759, the order, like the king- 
dom itself, became almost 
extinct, but was again restored 
in 1807. Frederick Augustus, 
King of Saxony, declared 
himself Grand Master. 


1713. The 

but he was subsequently superseded in the 
dignity by the Emperor Alexander of Russia. 
The diploma of presentation is always signed 
by the Czar himself. As all 
Russian orders are plnced 
under the patronage of saints, 
the White Eagle was usually 
conferred on non - Christians, 
such as the Shah of Persia 
iind other Eastern princes. 

The chief order of Sweden 

is the Seraphim, founded by 

King Magnus L about the 

year 1280. Each knight must 

swear to defend the Christian 

religion, be loyal to the King, 

and to protect the poor, 

widows, and orphans, The 

ceremony of investiture is 

very elaborate. Of the 

Order of the Black Eagle 

of Prussia, mention has 

been made when describing the various 

badges of the illustrious foreign orders of 

which our King is a 

me miter. 

Although Denmark is not 
a great or powerful country, 
yet its Order of the Ele- 
phant, founded by a prince 
during the Crusades — one 
who brought back with 
him an elephant, an un- 
heard-of beast —ranks with 
the Garter and the Golden 
Fleece in honour and rarity. 

DANISH <Jkl>KR OF THIi Wltl'l'ti 

by Google 

Original from 


M) now, dad, tell me — what 
lire the new pups like ? " 
demanded Miss Brannigan, 
helping herself to another 
cup of tea* She had just 
come back from a long visit 
to a rural aunt, and was all behindhand with 
home news. The strenuous life of an Army 
coach left her father with leisure for nothing 
but the scrappiest of letters. 

/Kneas Brannigan, M.A t , T.C1X, as the 
indifferently -polished brass plate on his front 
door described him, looked at his daughter 
with an expression of the deepest self-pity, 

" The pups ! " he exclaimed. u If ye love 
me, don't name them ! I don't believe the 
world holds half-a-dozen other lads who 
have reached such depths of pimply inanity 
as those I have now in hand. Perhaps 
I'm not (juite fair to young Bom pas. 
Bom pas, to give him his dues, has just got 
brains enough to know that he doesn't know 
anything. But the others ! Holy horrors I 
Pve niver seen their loike. There's Ciore, 
whose waking hours are just wan long agony 
of apprehension as to whether his thnmsers 
are, or are not, in erase. An* there's Brown. 
An' there's Kvershcld. Tktir wan conception 
of the hoighest limits of human achievement 
is to make the acquaintance of Miss Gabrielle 
Ray — to which noble ind they devote the 

VoL Jixiviii.— 21. 

only earnest indivours of their lives. As for 
Calthorpe — he has got a system for backin* 
horses of such unmitigated complexity that 
it demands ivery atom of intellectual effort 
—and God knows that's little enough— of 
which the young blaygard is capable. And 
Westman "— he threw up his arms despair- 
ingly—" Westman is jist the last sthraw that 
fills my cup of sorrow to overflowing. He's 
got about as much chance of passing as a 
cow has of lx: coming Pope," 

"Poor old dad!" murmured Miss Bran- 
nigan, stroking her father's cheek sym- 
pathetically. "Why don't ye tell them all 
what idjuts they are and send them away 
home again ? " 

"'Deed and I would," replied her father, 
44 if I could only send them back without 
returning the fees their trustin' fathers have 
paid in advance. But that wouldn't be 
quite convenient. No, me dean As usual, 
I'll just have to make the best of a bad job, 
and try to fashion out of this raw mass of 
mindless matter six individuals suitable to 
bear His Majesty's commission* Though 
what more I can do than I have done I don't 

In truth, the life of an Army coach Ss not 
easy* He is as one who is compelled to 
drive an ass without the assistance of whip, 

r,?in %lftrvERSTTVffF^0PH6^r iU not wo,k 



their tutor cannot make them. He has not 
even the schoolmaster's privilege of being 
allowed to mark (on a suitable anatomical 
part) his sense of an idle pupil's lack of 
industry. That is why Army tutors so often 
indulge in the dangerous practice of climbing 
trees with ropes round their necks when 
there is no one in sight to catch thefti if they 
lose their footing. 

tineas Brannigan appreciated to the full 
the hardness of his lot ; and, thanks to that 
fine instinct for melodrama which is the 
heritage of all his race, he contrived during 
the description of his pupils' shortcomings to 
present a picture of Early Christian martyr- 
dom so moving that, overcome at last by the 
power of his own pathos, he sank back into 
his chair, chin on chest, a silent image of 
bravely-borne suffering. It was quite an 
appreciable time before he could find 
strength to murmur, in a broken voice: — 

" Father wants a drink now." 

When Miss Brannigan, hastening to pre- 
vent her father's sufferings in this respect 
from becoming too acute, said, " Poor dad ! I 
wish I could help ye," she must have been 
referring to his tutorial trials ; for, as far as 
whisky went, she was helping him very 
adequately indeed. 

Her father shook his head. 

" Ye can't, darlin', ye can't ! " he mur- 
mured, dolefully. " What / can't do — can't 
be done. No mortal power would make 
those young divils work." 

Miss Brannigan looked at herself in the 
glass and said nothing. 

That evening, while George Westman, 
whose prospects of eventually becoming an 
officer and a gentleman were regarded by his 
preceptor as so peculiarly unrosy, was in his 
study putting to a completely satisfactory 
test the well-known soporific qualities of " The 
Fifteen Decisive Battles of the World," there 
came a knock to his door. George did not 
hear it, because at the moment he was 
engaged in a very pleasant dream, the 
principal feature of which was himself 
returning to the pavilion after a magnificently- 
compiled century in his first county match. 
When at last he awoke to the fact that there 
was someone ?t the door, it wai a very 
ungracious "Come in !" that he bellowed — 
expecting to see one of his fellow-pupils 
enter. George did not care much for 
the society of Gore, Calthorpe, and Co. 
They had apparently never heard of the 
fact that he had been reckoned one of the 
best school-cricketers in England, and would 

have played for the county before he was 
eighteen but for an attack of mumps, and 
treated him in an offensively familiar manner. 
This was rather disconcerting to one coming 
straight from a society which had hung 
adoringly upon his lightest word. So, as I 
say, his invitation to "Come in" was not 
very cordial 

The prettiest girl he had ever seen in his 
life walked into the room. 

George stumbled hastily to his feet, knock- 
ing over the inkpot as he did so, and a furious 
blush, of which he was only too painfully 
aware, suflused his not very intellectual face. 

" Don't stir ! " said the wonderful appari- 
tion ; and George remained stationary, trying 
as best he could not to call attention to the 
fact that the ink was pouring merrily off the 
table on to his trousers. 

"I'm Mr. Brannigan's daughter Nora," 
the wonderful apparition explained. " An' I 
thought I'd just come in and introjuce 
meself. I've been away stoppin* with friends 
— that's why ye haven't seen me before." 
She held out her hand to George, who took 
it very carefully, not quite certain whether 
it would not melt to rose-leaves at his touch. 

"And how are ye?" asked Miss Brannigan, 
with the most charming friendliness. " And 
how do ye like being wid me father ? " 

George said that he was very well, thank 
you, and that being with Miss Brannigan's 
father was one of the rippingest experiences 
he had ever enjoyed. Had he been asked 
the question five minutes earlier his reply 
would probably not have been so enthusiastic, 
but the appearance of Miss Brannigan lent 
the scene an entirely new aspect. 

"Ah, I'm glad of that," said Miss Brannigan, 

George asked her to sit down, but she 
smiled and shook her head. 

"Oh, no, thank ye, I won't stay. I only 
just looked in for a wee half-minute. I 
mustn't disturb ye at your studies." 

George insisted that she wasn't disturbing 
him in the least ; indeed, just before she 
came in he had been thinking of knocking 
off work for the night, as he had a slight 

All Miss Brannigan's finest womanly 
instincts rose at the thought of a fellow- 
creature's suffering. George must lie down 
at once on the sofa, while she ran to her 
room and got him two or three grains of 
phenacetin ; there was nothing better. It 
always cured her headaches, and she was a 
martyr to 'm. George protested that his 
sufferings were by no means so acute as to 




warrant her going to all this trouble; but 
Miss Brannigan was not to be thwarted in 
her benevolent designs, and before he realized 
what was happening he found himself lying 
on the sofa, with Miss Brannigan tucking a 
rug solicitously round his feet and insisting 
on his allowing her to bathe his forehead 
with eau-de-Cologne. 

41 Poor boy ! " she murmured, maternally, 
as she bent over him. " I can't bear to see 
ye in pain." 

George assured her, with perfect truth, 
that it was nothing; but he made no 
objection when she proposed to lower the 
light, lest it should try his eyes. When, 
however, Miss Brannigan said then that she 
would leave him to rest quietly, he declared 
that, so far from making his head worse, 
talking did the pain good, and begged her to 
remain — if it did not bore her too much. 

Miss Brannigan said, very graciously, that 
improving an acquaintance never bored her ; 
and for the best part of an hour she and 
George chatted away together. What they 
talked about he scarcely knew ; but before 
she left him Miss Brannigan knew pretty 
well all about George that was worth know- 
ing and a good deal that was not, while all 
George knew of her was that she was 
undoubtedly the sweetest girl he had ever 
met — probably the sweetest girl in the 

Also he gained the impression, from sundry 
little things she let drop, that he, George 
Westman, was a marked improvement on 
any other pupil who had ever been to her 
father for tuition. She even went so far as 
to warn him against getting too friendly with 
any of his fellow-students. Not that there 
was anything bad about the poor boys. Oh, 
no, she wouldn't say that for a minute ; but 
George would be well advised not to— to — 
well, if he had any little secret^ for instance, 
he had better not tell it to them, for they 
would only blab it out and make fun of him 
into the bargain. As George had no very 
important murders or anything of that sort 
on his conscience, he did not quite see the 
point of her advice, but he made a careful 
note of it all the same. 

When Miss Brannigan rose at last to go, 
she said, as she held out her hand : — 

" Well, I'm delighted to have made your 

acquaintance, Mr. — Mr. There, now! 

if I haven't gone and forgotten your name." 

" Westman," said George, wishing it had 
been Vavasour. 

" Westman," repeated Miss Brannigan in 
dreamy tones. " Westman. William or Walter 

would go well with that. What might your 
Christian name be, if ye don't mind me 

George told her, inwardly cursing his god- 
parents for their lack of enterprise. 

" I like George," said Miss Brannigan, 
ingenuously. " It's a nice name." 

" Do you think so ? " cried its delighted 
owner. " I'm so glad ! " 

" Are ye now ? And why ? " asked Miss 
Brannigan, favouring him with a look from 
her deep blue eyes which had the effect of 
sending his temperature up to about one 
hundred and ten degrees Fahrenheit. " Why 
are ye glad ? " 

" Oh, I — I don't quite know why," 
stammered George. " I'm glad, that's all." 

11 I'm afraid ye're a flirt," said Miss 
Brannigan, raking him with another optical 
broadside as she whisked out of the door. 
41 Good night, and shweet dreams." 

George's dreams — when he at last suc- 
ceeded in getting his agitated mind into a 
condition suitable for repose — were sweet 
enough. Some men might find the constant 
repetition of the same apparition, however 
beautiful, for eight consecutive hours a little 
cloying ; but George didn't. He liked it. 
His experience of pretty women had been 
rather limited during the past six or seven 
years. The head master of his late school 
had been obsessed with an exaggerated idea 
of the danger to his scholars in the appear- 
ance amongst them of a pretty face, and the 
few members of the female sex who were ever 
permitted within the school boundaries were 
of a plainness remarkable enough to write 
home about. 

In the holidays, too, George had noticed 
a vexing indifference on the part of the girls 
he met to the society of a schoolboy, even 
though he was in his last term and had 
once very nearly been tried for the county. 
Once, for the sake of experience, he had 
kissed the wholly unattractive daughter of the 
tuckshop keeper, but the amount of gratifica- 
tion afforded by the experiment had not 
encouraged him to pursue the career of a 
gay Lothario. Small wonder, then, that Miss 
Brannigan's pretty Irish face and engaging 
friendliness had been too much for him. 

When he awoke in the morning it was with 
the distinct sensation that a new element had 
come into his life. What it was he would 
scarcely confess even to himself; but it 
induced him to put on his newest suit and to 
spend an amount of time over the selection 
and adjustment of his tie quite foreign to his 

us l#?felTY OF MICHIGAN 



To his deep chagrin he saw nothing of 
Miss Brannigan during that day ; but on the 
afternoon of the next he was so lucky, while 
taking his usual afternoon constitutional, as 
to come across her in Kensington Gardens, 
and she graciously accepted his stammering 
request to be allowed to take her somewhere 
to tea. 

They spent a delightful hour together in a 
secluded corner of the tea-shop, and George 
felt that he had made a distinct advance in 
her good graces. Very skilfully he allowed 
her to drag out of him the fact that he was 
supposed to be one of the best school- 
cricketers in England, and had once very 
nearly been tried for the county — a piece of 
intelligence which he was pleased to observe 
produced a marked impression. 

As they strolled home together she gave him 
a delicious thrill at every crossing by clinging 
timorously to his arm. 

" I'm so nervous of being run over," she 
explained. " Do ye mind me taking your 
arm, George ? — Mr. Westman, I should say." 
She gave a little embarrassed laugh at the 
slip she had made. The boy, beside himself 
with rapture, begged that she would not call 
him " Mr. Westman " ; he vastly preferred 
that she should call him by his Christian 

" I don't think I ought to ion so short an 
acquaintance," was her demure reply. "You 
might think I was forward." 

George vehemently protested that such 
an idea would never enter his head for a 
moment, and declared that if she addressed 
him in future as anything but "George" he 
would be deeply offended. 

"Very well then, George/ 1 she said; "but 
mind — if I call you George, you must call 
me Nora." 

11 May I ? " he cried, delightedly. " How 
ripping of you to let me, Nora, darling ! " 

His heart almost stood still with appre- 
hension when he realized the audacity of the 
unauthorized addition which he had made ; 
but Miss Brannigan did not seem to be very 
deeply offended at his presumption. 

" Ah, now — go on with your ' darling/ " 
was all she said, giving a little reproving 
squeeze to his arm, of which she had for- 
gotten to let go Since the last crossing. 
" Didn't I tell ye the other night that ye 
were a flirt ? " 

" I'm not a flirt," declared George, stoutly. 
He was by this time in a condition of dither- 
ing imbecility. " I've never called a girl 
4 darling' before." Miss Brannigan thought 
this was probably quite true, judging by the 

clumsy way he was doing it now, but she said, 
with a roguish look at him out of the corners 
of her eyes : — 

" Now, ye don't expect me to believe 'that % 
do ye ? Because I just won't ! " 

George promptly took possession of the 
little hand which lay so confidingly in the 
crook of his arm and said, earnestly : — 

"Nora, it's as true as — as that the stars 
are shining above us ! " 

The apostrophe was a little unfortunate, 
because at that precise moment the stars 
were completely obscured by a gathering 
fog; but George meant well. Nora's face 
grew grave and her voice faltered a little as 
she murmured : — 

" Ye're not trying to make fun of me, are 
ye, George ? " 

" No, darling, indeed I'm not ! " was the 
fervent reply. " I love you madly 1 I don't 
know what I shall do if you won't marry me." 

They had just arrived at the end of the 
road in which Brannigan's house stood, as 
George made his declaration, and Nora 
called a halt. 

" We mustn't go in together, George," she 
said. " Me father or one of the other boys 
might guess something if they saw me like 
this. I'm quite in a flutter." 

" You're not angry with me, are you ? " 
asked George, anxiously. 

"And why would I be angry?" was Miss 
Brannigan's surprised reply. " I'm taken so 
by surprise, though, that I'll need a minute 
or two to recover." 

" Can't you give me just a little word of 
hope before we part ? " pleaded George. 
He had a vague recollection of having read 
this remark recently in some book, and it 
seemed rather conveniently adapted for 
rounding off the present conversation. 

" I don't know," was Nora's hesitating 
reply. " Ye must give me time. Mebbe I'll 
come and see ye for a minute in your study 
this evening — though I won't promise." 

How George got through the time until 
Nora's eagerly-expected tap came to his 
study door he could scarcely tell. His agita- 
tion when she entered the room was quite 

Miss Brannigan mercifully proceeded at 
once to the discussion of the matter in hand. 

"I've been thinking over your proposal," 
she said, leaning gracefully against the mantel- 
piece, "and I'm sure it would be just foolish- 
ness for us to get engaged." 

"Ah, why, my darling?" cried George, 
relying for his expression on an imperfect 
recollecti^HI'fctBFl.t he methodbl kit Na popular 



ma time idol whose performance he had 
recently seen. The result would have been 
of inestimable value to an artist in search of 
a moving picture for a patent- medicine adver- 
tisement. Miss Brannigan had to bite her 
lip very hard before she could reply, 

" Because ye're dependent on your father ; 
that's the why/' was her very sensible answer, 
" Mebbe he mightn't approve of me as a 
daughter in-law, and what would we have to 
live on then ? Of course, if ye were to pass 
for the Army, that would be different Ye'd 
have your pay then ; we could live on that" 

George, whose ideas of what constituted a 
sufficiency for the support of two persons, 
or even as to what the remuneration of a sub- 
altern might be, were equally nebulous, cried : — 

M But I will pass the exam,, darling ! " 

*'No, ye won't, " was Miss Brannigan's very 
decided rejoinder. " I've been talking to me 
father about ye, and he says ye haven't a 
chance. Ye don't pay any attention at the 
lectures, he says; and ye've no application, 
he says. The way ye Ye going to work now, 
he says, ye wouldn't pass the exam, in a 
hundred years, so ye wouldn't" 

At this cheerful prognosis of his 
chances poor 
George looked 
very crestfallen. 
He had gone to 
Brannigan's under 
the comforting im- 
pression that his 
father paid the 
fees and the cram- 
mer did the rest. 
It was rather a 
shock to discover 
that some exertion 
on his own part 
was expected. He 
looked blankly at 
Nora, in the hope 
that she might 
have some helpful 
suggestion to 

"Of course," 
she went on, "if 
ye were to work 
real kard y instead 
of foos t heri n' 
about as ye're 
doing now, yed 
have no difficulty 
whatever in pass- 
ing. But I'm afraid 
it's not in ye*" 

" But it is, dear, it is," protested George, 
stoutly, "To win you for my wife I'd 
willingly slave from morning till night." 

Nora looked at him very kindly. 

"Would ye now?" she asked him eagerly, 
"Will ye promise to put all ye know into 
your work — for my sake?" 

"I will, Nora — I swear it!" he cried, 
passionately, taking her hands in his, 

" YeVe an awfully nice boy," she cooed* 
"But whisht! I must be going now, or me 
father will be coming to look for me. 
Remember, yeVe promised." She held up 
a monitory finger. 

11 1 sha'n't forget/' said George, earnestly. 
" But you must promise me that when I get 
my commission you will marry me at once," 

Miss Brannigan shook her head, 

" Ah, go on with you ! " she cried, mock- 
ingly, " I'll promise ye nothing of the sort. 
Sure, ye might be tired of me long before then, 
liut if ye pass your exam., and ye still want 
me, come to me then and see what I'll have 
to say." 

And this, though not entirely satisfying, 
was the most that all George's earnest plead- 
ing could extract from her in the way of a 




promise. However, it was something in the 
nature of a bargain, and George, amazed at 
his own boldness, begged her to seal it with 
a kiss. 

" Indeed, then, HI do nothing of the 
kind," replied Miss Brannigan, drawing her- 
self up with great dignity. " I'll have ye to 
know, Mr. Westman, that an Irish girl kisses 
no man until she is pledged to 'm. How dare 
ye ask me such a thing ? Shame on ye ! " 

George became abject on the instant ; but 
it was not until he had given a solemn under- 
taking never again tooutrage Miss Brannigan's 
feelings with so immodest a request that she 
would deign to restore him to her smiles. 

As she was leaving the room she suddenly 
thought of something and came back. 

" Ye'll be careful, won't ye, r she said, 
" never to breathe a word of what has passed 
between us to any of the other boys? I don't 
want them to be making fun of us. Besides, 
me father might get to hear of it, and if he 
did — off I'd be sent be the first train to me 
Aunt Judy's ! " 

George promised to be as close as the grave. 

From that night forward George Westman 
was a reformed character. The amount of 
energy he contrived to infuse into the 
uncongenial task of acquiring knowledge 
was simply phenomenal. From breakfast 
till bed he sat with his nose to the educa- 
tional grindstone, and would never have put 
his foot outside the crammer's front door had 
it not been for the fact that once a week — 
on Tuesdays — Nora graciously permitted him 
to take her out to tea. He begged for an 
extension of this privilege to other days in 
the week, but Miss Brannigan was adamant. 
She pointed out that people — some of the 
other pupils, for instance — might see them 
together and report to her father, in which 
case there would be the divil to pay. For 
them to meet once a week was dangerous 
enough in all conscience ; to do so more 
often would simply be to imperil the future 
happiness of two young lives. 

George, shuddering at the possibility of a 
separation from his Nora, meekly submitted 
to the meagre allowance of her society which 
Miss Brannigan thought it safe to give him, 
being consoled in some measure by the 
increasing kindness of her behaviour when 
they were together. She never ceased on 
these occasions to praise the heroic efforts 
he was making for her sake, and would tell 
him, with an admiring light in her eyes, that 
he was the finest fellow in the world, giving 
his cheek as she spoke an approving pat, and 

even allowing him to hold her hand — some- 
times for as long as half a minute. Further 
favours— after the unfavourable reception of 
his previous advances — George did not dare 
to seek, which, indeed, was just as well, 
seeing that the mere fact of being allowed to 
squeeze her fingers reduced him to such a 
condition of imbecility that it was all he 
could do to restrain himself from trium- 
phantly bellowing out their delicious secret 
to anyone with the patience to listen to him. 
After a while he noticed that the example 
of untiring industry which he set was begin- 
ning to have its effect on the other pupils at 
Brannigan's. They showed distinct symptoms 
of alarm at the prospect of being left behind 
in the race for success by such an outsider as 
George was supposed to be. Gore grew posi- 
tively careless about his trousers : Brown and 
Eversfield abandoned their pursuit of Miss 
Gabrielle Ray's acquaintance on the very eve 
of being asked to dinner with some people 
who knew a second * cousin of that lady's 
favourite photographer quite well. Even 
Calthorpe, after that long sequence of pre- 
liminary failures which, as he so often ex- 
plained, was the surest indication of the 
ultimate success of his betting system, sud- 
denly abandoned the Turf. All of them 
plunged into their studies with an applica- 
tion only inferior to George's own. The 
place became a veritable hive of industry. 

When the exams, at last began, George 
went to his ordeal pale, but determined. For 
the first ten minutes his mind was a mere 
whirling mass of facts and figures, through 
which, like one clear star in a stormy sky, 
shone a rose- pink vision of Nora Brannigan. 
Then the recollection that success would 
mean that he might one day lead that rose- 
pink vision to the altar steadied his nerves, 
and saved his faculties from that tendency to 
an intellectual stampede which the subtle 
atmosphere of an examination-room so often 

When it was all over, he was tolerably 
certain that he had got through. It was not 
until the arrival of the letter announcing the 
result that he felt any real anxiety. Then 
he suddenly became afflicted with a deadly 
certainty that he had failed. He could 
scarcely bring himself to open the blue 
envelope, conscious as he was that on what 
it contained depended all his hopes of future 
happiness. At last with trembling fingers he 
tore it open, and a cry of relief broke from 
his lips. 




When he yrent round to call on Brannigan 
that afternoon the little Irishman congratu- 
lated him most warmly on his success. 

" Ye've done splendidly, me boy ! " he 
cried. " Splendidly ! And so have all the 
other boys. Ivery wan of them is through. 
That just shows what good, honest work'll 
do. I niver thought wan of ye would pass 
when ye came to me first — that I didn't." 

He went on for quite a long time explaining 
what dunderheads George and his fellow- 
pupils had been before they had had the 
inestimable advantage of his tuition, until 
George began to fidget and at last plucked up 
courage to ask if he might speak to Miss Nora. 

11 She's not at home, my boy," replied 
Brannigan; "and it's sorry she'll be not to 
have been here to congratulate ye. But 
the fact is, she's gone over to stay for a 
moath with her fiance's people in Ireland." 

George's heart turned to stone. The 
room whirled round. 

" Her fianci I" he stammered, blankly. 

« Yes — didn't ye know she was engaged ?" 
asked Brannigan, innocently. "I thought 
she would have told ye. A nice boy — in 
the Irish Constabulary. She's been engaged 
to 'm for nearly two years, but she wouldn't 
leave me till I could give up me business 
and go and live near them in Ireland. That'll 
be next spring, I hope." 

Perhaps something in the boy's manner 
must have given Brannigan a hint that the 
effect of his daughter's attractions had been 
felt outside the ranks of the Irish Con- 
stabulary, for when George muttered some- 
thing about an "important engagement" he 
did not press him to remain. 

Half-way down the road, while George was 
turning over in his mind the relative merits 
of drowning and poisoning as easy forms of 
death, he ran into Calthorpe, whom he would 
have given five pounds to avoid at that par- 
ticular moment. Calthorpe shook hands effu- 
sively, and asked George if he had been to 
see Brannigan. George admitted that he had. 

" I suppose Paddy was awfully bucked at 
our getting through ? " asked Calthorpe ; and, 
without giving time for a reply, added, 
eagerly, "Was Nora there?" 

George said no— Nora was not there; she 
was staying in Ireland with hex fiance's people. 

"Get out, you old rotter ! " was the remark 
with which Calthorpe received this piece of 
information. "You're trying to pull my leg. 
You've guessed about Nora and me." 

"Guessed what?" demanded George, a 
horrible suspicion beginning to take shape in 
his mind Dij 

"Well, there's no harm in telling you 
now," said Calthorpe, with a slight blush. 
"Nora and I have been secretly engaged 
since last March. We were only waiting till 
I passed to ask the old boy's consent." 

" Good heavens ! " exclaimed George, his 
load of affliction lightening appreciably with 
the knowledge that there would probably 
be another to share it. " You don't mean to 
say she has made a fool of you as well ? " 

" Fool of me ! What do you mean ? " 
asked Calthorpe, indignantly, as if the process 
were something outside the scheme of things 
possible. While George was explaining a 
cab drove up, from the interior of which they 
heard Gore's raucous voice shouting : — 

"Congrats, you fellows ! I'm awfully glad 
you're through ! " 

Calthorpe and George could just control 
their ; emotion sufficiently to be able to 
felicitate Gore on his own success. 

" Ta," said Gore ; then, after some hesita- 
tion, he added : " And there's something else 
you must congratulate me on, too." His 
listeners looked mutely at each other, as 
much as to say, "Is it possible?" 

"Yes," proceeded Gore, complacently; 
"I'm engaged to Nora Brannigan." 

He must have misinterpreted the harsh, 
mirthless laugh with which his intelligence 
was received, for he went on quite cheerfully 
and unsuspectingly : — 

" I see you're surprised, and I don't wonder 
at it. We kept it no end dark. Why, I 
never used to see Nora except on Thursdays, 
when I took her out to tea." 

" Tuesday was my day," muttered George, 

" Wednesday was mine," supplemented 
Calthorpe, in dreary accents. 

" I really don't know what you beggars are 
mumbling," snapped Gore, a little nettled by 
th'eir lack of enthusiasm. " And I can't stop 
to find out ; I'm on my way to Paddy's. 
Arms of love, you know," he added, jocosely, 
as he pushed his hand up through the trap to 
let the cabman know that he might drive on. 

" Don't you bother to go to Paddy's, Gore," 
said Calthorpe. " Westman has just been 
there — and Nora's away. You drive us round 
to Brown's place instead. I have an idea 
that Brown might like to hear your news." 

They were so fortunate as to find Brown 
at home, seated in his study, which was 
decorated with every known photograph of 
Miss Gabrielle Ray. With him was Evers- 
field. After a brief interchange of congratu- 
lations Calthorpe got to his point at once. 

'i*fi^iT?t)f*Hito^ " do y° u 

j 68 



mind telling us, in the strictest con- 
fklence, whether you are engaged to Nora 
Brannigan ? ?J 

The suddenness of the question took 
Brown so much by surprise that he was 
unable for the moment to answer, Before 
he could do so Eversfield interposed. 

"/ can answer that question for you/' 
he said. "Brown is not engaged to Miss 
Brannigan. But I am," 

"That's a lie! "cried Brown, finding his 
tongue all at once and turning fiercely on his 

companion. "Nora and I have had an 
understanding for the last six months." 

"Thanks/' said Calthorpe, dryly. "That's 
all we wanted to know. We'll leave you to 
fight it out," 

"Now, what about Bom pas ?" asked George. 
"We may as well account for everybody/' 

" Bom pas doesn't count/ 1 was Cakhorpe's 
judicial reply. " He passed first, you know. 
Hti was always a cert, to get through. Bony 
swats like Bom[^pq<ftggftf]^n|if(; any encourage- 




^INTERESTING descriptions have 
^i^ Tm hwn written regarding the new 

9 world that 

to the blind 

4i"ijJ fiijl,' wonu mm opens 

JirJJ^y when sight is given to them, Less 

in degree of course, yet note- 
worthy too in its way, is the surprise of the 
short sigh ted when* after years spent without 
glasses, he looks through spectacles that 
show him the world as it really is. Very true 
was the exclamation of the myopic lad when 
ihus privileged : "Mother, I have never seen 
you till now. It scarcely seems you ! " This 
normal vision, possible only by artificial 
means, makes the world for a time abnormal 
to him because what Shakespeare terms 
his " bisson conspectuities JJ have long 
shown him one that is not 
merely circumscribed, but 

The common opinion 
regards short -sight as an 
ailment which merely pre- 
vents due recognition of 
distant objects. It is not 
realized that much more is 
involved than this. Our 
limited range of vision 
gives us not only a circum- 
scribed but also a different 
view of our surroundings. 
Thus, in admiring Nature, 
I, the myopic, behold a 
landscape other than that 
which spreads before you. 
Vegetation, for instance, 
is blurred and soft like an 
impressionist picture, the 
colour spreading occasion- 
ally as if a child had 
handled the brush. You 
see spaces between the 
clearly - defined leaves of 
the tree and the light 
shining through the spaces. 
I see merely a soft mass 
with no spaces, the leaves 
all blotting into one 
another. The same holds 
good with other aspects of 
Nature — it is a world with- 
out detail or outline, this 

Vol. xxjtviiL — -22. 

giving even solid buildings a cloudy and 
unsubstantial look. 

Not only the inanimate, but the animate 
world presents itself in strange forms to the 
myopic. Humanity, for instance, is often 
revealed in somewhat inhuman guise, Thus, 
so far as ocular demonstration goes, the 
world to the short sighted is peopled by 
men and women as faceless, sometimes even 
as headless, as the horseman of legendary 
fame. Indoors myopic persons get quite 
accustomed to talking with persons who have 
neither eyes nor nose ; out of doors the phe- 
nomenon is more striking, because oftener 
repeated. At quite a short distance the face 
melts into the atmosphere and becomes 

„ nr( U Original' from 





either a cloud or, like H. G. Wells's invisible 
man, a nothingness. I see the hat and the 
figure, sometimes the beard ; I see the 
walking-stick — if the hand Is ungloved this 
stick is waving miraculously a little way from 
the sleeve edge, for the hand, like the face, 
has vanished. 

This spreading quality of light makes a 
street scene very 
peculiar to the 
m y o p i c — h o vv 
peculiar he does 
not himself realize 
till he is given the 
needed glasses. 
Thus, I stand at 
one end of Regent 
Street. To you 
there is a long 
procession of 
lamps, each flame 
distinct and pal- 
pably twenty yards 
or so distant from 
its neighbour. To 
me Lhere is simply 
a conglomeration 
of large, shining 
circles overlapping 
one another and 
hiding the rest of 
the street. A 

hansom-cab darts towards me. It is hidden 
behind two interlocked circles of light (its 
lamps), which do not disjoin till the vehicle 
stops at the kerbstone. 

As this weird person passes me substance 
materializes between the hat- brim and the 
coat collar, but whether that substance be a 
turnip or a human face I cannot from my 



eyesight determine. I only assume that it is 
not the vegetable in question ; I cannot 
prove it, The myopic whose defect is com- 
paratively slight will generally be able to 
detect a smudged feature or two as the face 
passes, but the blurred outline will render 
recognition difficult, while it will be hard for 
him to ascertain where the face ends and the 
rest of the world begins. 

Though the short-sighted person thus 
frequently beholds his fellow-creatures ana- 
tomically deficient T he has his compensations. 
Colour to him is a little softer and more 
beautiful than it is to the average individual. 
Fortunately, it is also quite as visible. As a 
consequence, colour without (evidently) any 

feather in his cap. I shall now know So-and-so 
for the rest of the act. 

Towards the back of the stage appears 
suddenly something yellowish and whitish. Is 
it an addition to the scenery, a large yellow 
dog, or a curious trick on the part of the 
electric light ? No, it is Lady Gwendoline, or, 
rather, the massive skirt draperies, which are 
all that I can see of he^ One becomes quite 
mathematical under the stimulus of myopia, 
That little blur of red is so far distant from 
the floor that it is probably a necktie. The 
funny countryman, therefore, has entered ; 
later, a moving blot of greenness assures me 
that Countess Eva is at her old tricks again, 

Though we see the world so indistinctly, 



substance to support it is a frequent pheno 
menon of the myopic world. 

This, for instance, is very evident during a 
visit to the theatre, if the short-sighted person 
has been unlucky enough to leave his glasses 
at home. Thus, I am seated but a few chairs 
away from the stage, yet actors and actresses 
are to me just so many misty columns of 
light gifted with speech. So and-so enters, 
for instance, and streaks across the stage ; 
about him is a haze of green which, stopping 
some distance from the stage floor, is probably 
ft short cloak. I do not see his head or face 
except perhaps, as a vague film, but above it 
is a suggestion of movement which means the 

however, we yet behold it sometimes as a 
more beautiful sphere than that which you, 
the normal-sighted, inhabit. The human 
face, when we can see it at all, is a softer 
face than that which is visible to you. The 
coarse red of a complexion becomes very 
often a becoming blush, white hairs resolving 
themselves pleasantly into high lights. The 
world ages ten years all round when the 
oculist permits us (he does not always do so) 
to assume glasses which bring us up to the 
normal, for wrinkles, unless large, do not 
usually exist for us, the oldest man having often 
a boyish look which vanishes when spectacles 

■^iitorosfiY'MifefiKftft 8 bleraishes of 

1 7 3 


complexion and feature resolve themselves 
into nothing. Short-sight is the true magic 
juice which causes us to see " Helen's beauty 
in a brow of Egypt 1 ' 

The skyscape again has peculiarities of its 

the same time, though small, those coins 
are more distinct than heretofore* 

With the donning of glasses again objects 
become clearer yet a little more distant. 
The world, as it were, takes a step backward 


own. For some reason or other the sky is 
always nearer to a short-sighted person than 
to his normal-sighted brother, the clouds 
being, however, less well defined- Again, 
the stars, which to you are twinkling spots 
of lightj buried deep in the azure, to us are 
shining circles like silver tables, This is 
due to the convergence of the rays of light, 
which seem to run together till they form a 
solid wheel. For the same reason the moon 
is huge. What it gains in size, however, it 
loses in distinctness, for it has neither outline 
nor " face. JJ 

I have already mentioned that the myopic 
tendency is to see everything larger, though 
more blurred, than is the case in ordinary 
vision, Going suddenly into proper glasses, 
one notices this idiosyncrasy very particu- 
larly. A shilling, for instance, will at first 
look like a rather large sixpence ; while as 
regards the threepenny- bit, one simply 
wonders what it has done to itself. At 



from us. Pavement and floor are farther off, 
and getting downstairs is at first a giddy task. 
The tube stairs, by the way, arc specially 
trying to the myopic because of the metal 
at the end of each, which confuses one as to 
the real length of the step, shadow and sub- 
stance interchanging as we feel our way to 
the lift, 

Though spectacles were not used in Europe 
till the fifteenth century, short sight was 
commoner than is usually believed among 
ancient nations, Nero had his eyeglass for 
the Coliseum, though he did not dangle it 
by a piece of ribbon, but ordinary mortals evi- 
dently endured their affliction without remedy. 
There is a common notion that short- 
sighted persons enjoy the compensation of 
long sight in old age. This, however, is not 
the case. True myopia tends to increase with 
the years; and its victims are warned to put 
off the donning of the strongest glasses as 
long as possible. The trouble is caused by a 
defect in the shape of the retina. 
Forty years ago an experimenter 
promulgated the theory of a cure 
by pressing the eyeball into shape 
by some mechanical arrange- 
ment. Four years ago a 
London doctor wished to 
correct the fault by manipula- 
tion, but so far there is no 
news of any successful tests, 
and it is unlikely that the short- 
sighted will ever enter the real 
wurld save bv the way of eye- 





HE ground idea upon which all 
museums in Germany is based is 
the elevation and guidance of 
public taste by the permanent exhi 
bit ion of objects representing the 
highest artistic perfection. This> however, is 
only the positive side of the question; the 

negative side has hitherto been sadly neg- 
lected, People are only shown what to 
imitate, and not what to avoid, and, moreover, 
considerations of expediency and economy 
and the passing influences of the moment 
combine to nullify the good impression 
consistently produced by the museums. It is 

This kbowi the en-truce to the u Horrible K*impte*" Mn.tcuiju In the l<*re£Tound i* .1 suit of armour of modern 
const ruction, designed for the decora lion of some p;irvenu castle. It falls under P™J"t:H>yjT Famureks ban, inasmuch as 
it is calculated lo deceive the ignorant, and i:> therefore included in the first section of" Material Offniccs/" Just behind 
the figure on the Ml a 1 - -. containing ftsnn pies «..f nr title* which in lik* manner— but more subtly— tend m mi-itcad 
the visitor. There are tin vessels coloured to represent faience ware t iron offet^ j'foitct'.: 2oj;e*sembIe Wedgwemd, .uid 
1 of metul which is iu i^alityfn^t | nif|a\ putvprcpared earthenwire t gwiJ^KirP SintnUr 1 metal than what it 1 

tin for silver and 




7 id*. plftOtQgribh rrp ■ cvcnls a corner oi the Mii-teiiiu. J l:>- i-a... 
columns are of wood doctored lo represent granite, while the 
busts are merely plaster c;i>i$ nronred over to resemble bronze- 
buses, hi tin- in i- 1» i U- U .1 wooden frame painted to seem like 
marble, while the cue M*een the busts contain* further 
examples of modern tmitaiions of old china and earthen ware 
of famous pattern and dt^i^n. 

opening a collection of horrible examples. 
But trade influences were too strong. His 
superiors did not venture to risk the inno- 
vation ; so it was not until he became the 
independent director of the beautiful museum 
at Stuttgart that Professor Pazaurek was able 
to carry out his life's mission. 

The Museum of Art Indiscretions, as the 
Professor calls his collection, has attracted 
considerable attention not only from the 
originality of the idea, but also from the all- 
embracing nature of its aims. Its founder 
has declared war on everything smacking of 
sham and shoddy, against canvas masquerad- 
ing as leather, painted wood as marble, pre- 
pared linen as silk or satin- He is ruthlessly 
severe in his condemnation of imitations in 
modern substances of the masterpieces in 
statuary, porcelain, or wood-carving issuing 
from the great workshops and centres of 
industry of the past. 

The catalogue of the museum is an 
amazing work* It betrays the exhaustive 
study of years into a score of trades, and it 
classifies and subdivides the exhibits with a 
precision and command of technical termin- 
ology which is simply masterly. The museum 
is divided into three groups, illustrating lapses 

just in industrial art, 
which is the domain 
of the decoration of 
the home, thai the 
grossest offences 
against the canons 
of good taste are 
perpetrated, and so 
Professor Pazaurek, 
as Director of the 
Wurtemberg Indus- 
trial Museum, was 
the right man to 
arrange the first 
Museum of Bad 
Taste the world has 
ever seen. 

For ten years he 
has waged his war 
against the spread 
of bad taste, and 
while Director of 
the Northern Bohe 
mian Museum at 
Prague tried in vain 
to get permission 
to make the experi- 
ment of showing 
people the reverse 
of the medal by 

A view of Section III- to illustrate the faults of excett mid undue simplicity in house iu 
(he foreground i* a chftif of no particular <tyie, of inch extreme simplicity as to l>e hardly better than 
a stool- IJehiiul it U mi elaborate development or a faldstool Beside it is a stand heavily overloaded 
with unnecessary and misplaced decoration. On the JtuaN in. ihr, cjetuer arc instances of artistic 
pkturcs beifig sppilfd tor.tbd nnf poses of ad verti^ment r UrtMUJfl^hnir0JTOic merits and the elegant 
3V Vl_J l ferSy*i*W^led by ibe vulj 


i w^mm c omtnm-\ 



from good taste in material, in construction, 
and in decoration. 

The first group illustrates what Professor 
Pazaurek calk " Preciosities in Material " — 
that is to say, examples of things which 
pretend to be what they are not, or are 
made of materials which are quite irrele 
vant to the destined use. We all know 
those china flower-vases made to look like 
hollowed out tree-tmnks t those little boxes 
made of metal to re- 
present hampers, or 
those ash - trays, the 
pride of many a saloon 
bar, constructed with 
infinite labour out of 
so many hundred cigar- 
bands or postage- 
stamps. All thest 
articles fall under the 
Professor's ban and 
may be seen in the 
glass cases at Stutt- 
gart Then there are 
the senseless combi- 

uncomfortable, and seats or stools made of 
sharp stags* antlers. This section, too, contains 
endless specimens of the nondescript rubbish 
sold as letter-weights, empty shell- cases, 
marble slabs with metal figures, imitation 
helmets ; then, again, all the varieties of pin- 
cushions in the shape of velvet animals, and 
so on — in fact, anything in the nature of far- 
fetched eccentricity. 

One case shows examples of inconsistency 

nations of materials, 
such as of silk and 
linen which will not 
wash, articles manufac- 
tured out of " freak " 
materials (such as 
human hair), all the 
varieties of substance 
from canvas to lino- 
leum used for imitating 
leather, and objecLs 
made from substances 
foreign to their nature. 
This subdivision com- 
prises, infer alia, choco- 
late busts of the Kaiser, 
such as are often seen 
in pastrycooks* win- 
dows in Germany, and 

vases, statues, and busts in wood or plaster 
faked to resemble marble, granite, etc. 

The second group, *' Faults of Construc- 
tion/' includes all articles which do not fulfil 
the object for which their appearance pro- 
claims them to be intended, such as metal 
vessels for holding hot fluids, with non- 
insulated metal handles, which get so hot 
when the vessel is fulfilling its purpose 
that they cannot fulfil their purpose — *>., 
be held— vases or china figures of unstable 
build, and furniture of such grotesque 
shape as to be impracticable for ordinary 
purposes. As examples, there are chairs 
with such sharp corners as to be highly 

Faulty construction. The fast shelf exhibit* an array >.A rtjn*» i i> it cranky uan*i ruction thai 
they GfUftDOt be properly de:uied, In the middle is 1 top-heavy cherub, which is pilloried Viy the 
Profes*uf as Unpractjcftble u an article of household adornment m view of its prupciiKiiv to 
overturn mid perhaps break other object v Nrxt to ic is li long tape r i n c gL\s* vase h which is 
ticketed 4t Exaggerated Proportions.^ The ochtr two shelves contain articles iim tract knhlr in 
Form, such a* hot-water jugs with ncm-iiMtilaied HMrtiftl handle*, and inkstand* in metal oF such 
complex design that ihey cannot be suitably cleansed. 

between form and purpose— thermometers 
fashioned like riding -whips, toy revolvers 
holding pen, ink, and pencil One of the 
most interesting corners of the whole museum 
is in this group — the collection of what the 
P ro fe s s or has genially dubbed "Trash." 
There are all sorts of subdivisions. The 
trash thrown on the German market by the 
ton as a speculation on the patriotic or 
religious feelings of the people ; souvenir 
trash ; the rubbish bought up cheap by the 
bourgeoisie for presents (especially wedding 
presents); club trash (all the Cheap Jack 
badges, etc., issued in connection with 
the , myr j ad s , of .societ i PS - and associ at ions 

lJmvER s j-ITr OFMlHIg.^R 



in Germany) ; actuality trash (&s an example 
of this Professor Pazaurek has got together a 
case full of the various monstrosities of taste 
resulting from the great Zeppelin airship 
furore of last summer) ; and finally 
advertisement trash, the cheap in- 
artistic kind. The last section of 

and Empress, or liver sausage? packed in 
paper bearing the picture of Bismarck, 

There are, furthermore, examples of im- 
ported dissonant foreign styles as well as 
illustrations of the prevalent mania for 
historical or ethnographical motive 3 in 
furniture. As an instance of the chaos 



this group is devoted to plagiarisms, imitations 
in modern German china of Copenhagen, 
Sevres, or Dresden ware. 

The third group, hy comparison, makes the 
two other groups seem quite frivolous. It is 
devoted to internal decoration, which in 
Germany, under the influence of the art 
nmweau movement, is in a state of chaos 
so far as homogeneousness 
of style and form is con- 
cerned. The Professor tries 
to show where lies the 
gulden mean between ex- 
travagance in decoration 
and the exaggerated sim- 
plicity of the ultramodern 
school* He devotes one 
section to what he labels 
"Brutalities of Decoration." 
This is the employment of 
superfluities, as represented 
in many modern books, for 
instance, with a maximum 
of margin and a minimum 
of print, coarse, rough paper, 
and senselessly simple bind- 

Another section pillories 
the employment of religious 
or patriotic motives in 
everyday objects such as 
handkerchiefs printed with 
portraits of the Emperor 

Digitized by Google 

existing in people's minds in this matter, Pro- 
fessor Pazaurek, with marvellous industry, has 
got together a complete collection of modern 
inkpots in styles ranging from the Egyptian 
and Assyrian ages down to the present time. 
One large case deserves a word of special 
mention. It contains numerous examples of 
furniture and upholstering which were all the 
lage when the New Art move- 
ment first broke out, but are 
now, a dozen years after, as 
dead as the dodo. 

Professor Pazaurek 
earnestly advocates that his 
brilliant and logical example 
should W.' fuKifwvd by all 
museums* He suggests that 
every art museum should 
have attached to it, as a 
matter of course, a collec- 
tion of horrible examples, 
with the object of raising 
the standard of public taste. 
It is a little remarkable, 
however, that the Professor 
has forgotten to mention 
that in this country, where, 
as is well known, our taste 
is faultless, such a museum 
would be not only super- 
fluous, but impossible. 
Where could the articles be 

P Rf 1 1 KSSO K \*A/ A I " k i; K , T 1 [ E FO U \ \ > K H 

From a /*Auto. &jr Carl Q. bpringtr. found tO put fntO it ? 

Original from 

By E. M. DELL. 

O you don't want to marry 
me ? " said Earl Wyverton* 

He said it by no means 
bitterly. There was even the 
suggestion of a smile on his 
cleanshaven face. He looked 
down at the girl who stood before him, with 
eyes that were faintly quizzical. She was 
bending at the moment to cut a tall Madonna 
lily from a sheaf that grew close to the path. 
At his quiet words she started and the 
flower fell 

He stooped and picked it up, considered 
it for a moment* then slipped it into 
the basket that was slung on her arm. ^ 

11 Don't be agitated," he said* gently, 
"You needn't take me seriously— 
unless you wish." 

She turned a face of piteous entreaty 
towards him* She was trembling 
uncontrollably. " Oh, please* Lord 
Wyverton," she said T earnestly, n please, 
don't ask me! Don't ask me! I — I 
felt so sure you wouldn't." 

"Did you?" he said. "Why?" 

He looked at her with grave interest. 
He was a straight, well-made man; 
but his kindest friend could not have 
called him anything but ugly, and 
there were a good many who thought 
him formidable also. Nevertheless 
there was that about him— an honesty 
and a strength — which made up to a 
very large extent for his lack of other 

"Tell me why/ 1 he said. 

"Oh, because you are so far 
above me," the girl said, with an 
effort. "You must remember 
that. You can't help it, I have 
always known that you were not 
in earnest." 

" Have you ? " said Lord 
Wyverton, smiling a little. 
" Have you ? You seem to have 
rather a high opinion of me, 
Miss Neville." 

She turned back to her 
flowers. " There are certain things," she said, 
in a low voice, "that one can't help knowing." 

" And one of them is that Lord Wyverton 
is too fond of larking to be considered 
seriously at any time?" he questioned, 

i by Google 

She did not answer. He stood and 
watched her speculatively* 

"And so you won't have anything to say 
to me?" he said at last "In fact, you don't 
like me ? " 

She glanced at him with grey eyes that 
seemed to plead for mercy* "Yes, I like 
you," she said, slowly. fc< But " 

"Never mind the 'but,'" said Wyverton, 
quietly* " Will you marry me? " 

She turned fully round again and faced 
him. He saw that she was very pale. 

11 Do you mean it P J? she said. " Do you ? " 

Vol xxxv-iiL 93. 

« LIKE ,M-E ? ' " 

Original from 

i 7 8 


He frowned at her, though his eyes 
remained quizzical and kindly. " Don't be 
frightened," he said. " Yes ; I am actually 
in earnest. I want you." 

She stiffened at the words and grew paler 
still ; but she said nothing. 

It was Wyverton who broke the silence. 
There was something about her that made 
him uneasy. 

" You can send me away at once," he said, 
" if you don't want me. You needn't mind 
my feelings, you know." 

" Send you away ! " she said. " I ! " 

He gave her a sudden, keen look, and held 
out his hand to her. " Never mind the rest 
of the world, Phyllis," he said, very gravely. 
" Let them say what they like, dear. If we 
want each other, there is no power on earth 
that can divide us." 

She drew in her breath sharply as she laid 
her hand in his. 

" And now," he said, " give me your 
answer. Will you marry me ? " 

He felt her hand move convulsively in his 
own. She was trembling still. 

He bent towards her, gently drawing her. 
"It is 'Yes,' Phyllis," he whispered. "It 
must be 'Yes.'" 

And after a moment, falteringly, through 
white lips, she answered him. 

« a is— 4 Yes/ " 

" And you accepted him ! Oh, Phyllis ! " 

The younger sister looked at her with eyes 
of wide astonishment, almost of reproach. 
They were two of a family of ten ; a country 
clergyman's family that had for its support 
something under three hundred pounds a 
year. Phyllis, the eldest girl, worked for 
her living as a private secretary, and had 
only lately returned home for a brief holiday. 

Lord Wyverton, who had seen her once or 
twice in town, had actually followed her 
thither to pursue his courtship. She had 
not believed herself to be the attraction. 
She had persistently refused to believe him 
to be in earnest until that afternoon, when 
the unbelievable thing had actually happened 
and he had definitely asked her to be his 
wife. Even then, sitting alone with her sister 
in the bedroom they shared, she could 
scarcely bring herself to realize what had 
happened to her. 

"Yes," she said; "I accepted him of 
course — of course. My dear Molly, how 
could I refuse ? " 

Molly made no reply, but her silence was 
somehow tragic. 

" Think of mother," the elder girl went on, 

"and the children. How could I possibly 
refuse — even if I wanted ? " 

" Yes," said Molly ; " I see. But I quite 
thought you were in love with Jim Freeman." 

In the silence that followed this blunt 
speech she turned to look searchingly at her 
sister. Molly was just twenty, and she did 
the entire work of the household with sturdy 
goodwill. She possessed beauty that was 
unusual. They were a good-looking family, 
and she was the fairest of them all. Her 
eyes were dark and very shrewd, under their 
straight black brows ; her face was delicate in 
colouring and outline ; her hair was red-gold 
and abundant. Moreover, she was clever 
in a strictly practical sense. She enjoyed life 
in spite of straitened circumstances. And 
she possessed a serenity of temperament that 
no amount of adversity ever seemed to ruffle. 

Having obtained the desired glimpse of her 
sister's face, she returned without comment 
to the very worn stocking that she was 

" I had a talk with Jim Freeman the other 
day," she said. " He was driving the old 
doctor's dog-cart and going to see a patient. 
He offered me a lift." 

" Oh ! " Phyllis's tone was carefully devoid 
of interest. She also took up a stocking 
from the pile at her sister's elbow and began 
to work. 

" I asked him how he was getting on," 
Molly continued. " He said that Dr. 
Finsbury was awfully good to him, and 
treated him almost like a son. He asked 
very particularly after you ; and when I told 
him you were coming home he said that he 
should try and manage to come over and 
see you. But he is evidently beginning to 
be rather important, and he can't get away 
very easily. He asked a good many ques- 
tions about you, and wanted to know if I 
thought you were happy and well." 

" I see." Again the absence of interest in 
Phyllis's tone was so marked as to be almost 

Molly dismissed the subject with a far 
better executed air of indifference. 

" And you are really going to marry Earl 
Wyverton," she said. " How nice, Phyl ! 
Did he make love to you?" 

There was a distinct pause before Phyllis 
replied. " No. There was no need." 

" He didn't ! " ejaculated Molly. 

" I didn't encourage him to," Phyllis con- 
fessed. He went away directly after. He 
said he should come to-morrow and see dad." 

" I suppose he's frightfully rich ? " said 
Molly, reflect©^! n 




" Enormously, I believe," A deep red 
flush rose in Phyllis's face* She had begun 
to tremble again in spite of herself. Molly 
suddenly dropped her work and leaned 

"Phyl, Phyl," she said, softly; "shall I 
tell you what Jim Freeman said to me that 
day? He said that very soon he should be 
able to support a wife— and 1 knew quite 
well what he meant. I told him I was glad — 
so glad. Oh, Phyl t darling, when he comes 
and asks you to go to him, what shall you 

Phyllis looked up with quick protest on 
her lips. She wrung her hands together 
with a despairing gesture, 

11 Molly, Molly," she gasped, " don't 
torture me! How can I help it? How can 
I help it ? I shall have to send him away." 

"Oh, poor darling!" Molly said "Poor,, 
poor darling ! ,f 

And she gathered her sister into her arms, 



pressing her close to her heart with a 
passionate fondness of which only a few 
knew her to be capable. There was only a 
year between them, and Molly had always 
been the leading spirit, protector and com- 
forter by turns. 

Even as she soothed and hushed Phyllis 
into calmness her quick brain was at work 
upon the situation, There must be a way 
of escape somewhere, Of that she was con- 
vinced. There always was a way of escape. 
But for the time at least it baffled her. Iler 
own acquaintance with Wyverton was very 
slight She wished ardently that she knew 
what manner of man he was at heart. 

Upon one point at least she was firmly 
determined. This monstrous sacrifice must 
not take place, even were it to ensure the 
whole family welfare. The life they lived 
was desperately difficult, but Phyllis must not 
be allowed to ruin her own life's happiness 
and another's also to ease the burden. 

But what a pity it seemed ! 
What a pity ! Why in wonder 
was Fate so perverse ? Molly 
thought Such a brilliant 
chance offered to herself would 
have turned the 
whole world into 
a gilded dream- 
land. For she 
was wholly heart- 

The idea was 
a fascinating one. 
It held her fancy 
strongly. She 
began to wonder 
if he cared very 
deeply for her 
sister, or if mere 
looks had attrac 
ted him. 

She had good 
looks too, she re- 
flected. And she was quick 
to learn, adaptable. The 
thought rushed through her 
mind like a meteor through 
space. He might be willing. 
He might be kind. He had 
a look about his eyes — a 
quizzical look — that certainly 
suggested possibilities. But 
dare she put it to the test? 
Dare she actually interfere 
in the matter ? 

For the first time in all 
poor, poor DARLINGJ1* a Itfttflrigorous young life Molly 




found her courage at so low an ebb that she 
was by no means sure that she could rely 
upon it to carry her through. 

She spent the rest of that day in trying to 
screw herself up to what she privately termed 
li the necessary pitch of impudence." 

At nine o'clock on the following morning 
Lord Wyverton, sitting at breakfast alone 
in the little coffee-room of the Red Lion f 
heard a voice he recognized speak his name 
in the passage outside, 

" Lord Wyverton," it said, "is he down?" 

Lord Wyverton rose and went to the door. 
He met the landlady just entering with a basket 
of eggs in her hand. She dropped him a curtsy. 

" It's Miss Molly from the Vicarage, my 
lord/' she said. 

Molly herself 
stood in the back- 
ground. Behind 
the landlady's 
broad back she 
also executed a 
village bob, 

"I had to come 
with the eggs, 
We supply Mrs 
Richards with 
eggs. And it 
seemed unneigh- 
bourly to go away 
without seeing 
your lordship/' 
she said. 

She looked at 
him with wonder- 
ful dark eyes that 
met his own with 
unreserved direct- 
ness, He told 
himself as he 
shook hands that 
this girl was a 
great beauty, and 
would be a mag- 
nificent woman some day. 

fl I am pleased to see you," he 
said, with quiet courtesy. *' It was 
kind of you to look me up, Will 
you come into the garden ?" 

*' I haven't much time to spare/' 
said Molly. u It's my cake morn- 
ing, You are coming round to the Vicarage, 
aren't you? Can't we walk together?" 

"Certainly/' he replied at once, "if you 
think I shall not be too early a visitor/' 

Molly's lips parted in a little smile. " We 
begin our day at six/' she said, 

Digitized by LiGOgle 

H What energy ! " he commented* $l I am 
only energetic when I am on a holiday." 

M You're on business now, then ? " queried 

He looked at her keenly as they passed 
out upon the sunlit road. "I think you 
know what my business is/' he said, 

She did not respond " I'll take you 
through the fields," she said, "It's a short 
cut Don't you want to smoke ? " 

There was something in her manner that 
struck him as not altogether natural. He 
pondered over it as he lighted a cigarette. 

11 They are cutting the grass in the church 
fields," said Molly. " Don't you hear ? " 

Through the slumberous summer air came 
the whir of the machine. It was June, 



Original fror 





" It's the laziest sound on earth," said 

Molly turned off the road to a stile. " You 
ought to take a holiday," she said, as she 
mounted it. 

He vaulted the railing beside it and gave 
her his hand. " I'm not altogether a drone, 
Miss Neville," he said. 

Molly seated herself on the top bar and 
surveyed him. "Of course not," she said. 
" You are here on business, aren't you ? " 

Wyverton's extended hand fell to his side. 
44 Now what is it you want to say to me ? " he 
asked her, quietly. 

Molly's hands were clasped in her lap. 
They did not tremble, but they gripped one 
another rather tightly. 

44 1 want to say a good many things," she 
said, after a moment. 

Lord Wyverton smiled suddenly. He had 
meeting brows, but his smile was reassuring. 

44 Yes ? " he said. " About your sister ? " 

44 Partly," said Molly. She put up an 
impatient hand and removed her hat. Her 
hair shone gloriously in the sunlight that fell 
chequered through the overarching trees. 

44 1 want to talk to you seriously, Lord 
Wyverton," she said. 

44 1 am quite serious," he assured her. 

There followed a brief silence. Molly's 
eyes travelled beyond him and rested upon 
the plodding horses in the hay-field. 

44 1 have heard," she said at length, 44 that 
men and women in your position don't always 
marry for love." 

Wyverton's brows drew together into a 
single, hard, uncompromising line. 44 1 sup- 
pose there are such people to be found in 
every class," he said. 

Molly's eyes returned from the hay-field 
and met his look steadily. 4t I like you best 
when you don't frown," she said. t4 1 am not 
trying to insult you." 

His brows relaxed, but he did not smile. 
44 1 am sure of that," he said, courteously. 
44 Please continue." 

Molly leaned slightly forward. 4i I think 
one should be honest at all times," she said, 
44 at whatever cost. Lord Wyverton, Phyllis 
isn't in love with you at all. She cares for 
Jim Freeman, the doctor's assistant — an 
awfully nice boy ; and he cares for her. 
But, you see, you are rich, and we are 
so frightfully poor ; and mother is often 
ill, chiefly because there isn't enough to 
provide her with what she needs. And so 
Phyllis felt it would be almost wicked to 
refuse your offer. Perhaps you won't under- 
stand, but I hope you will try. If it weren't 


for Jim, I would never have told you. As it 

is — I have been wondering " 

She broke off abruptly and suddenly 
covered her face with her two hands in a 
stillness so tense that the man beside her 

He moved close to her. He was rather 
pale, but by no means discomposed. 

44 Yes ? " he said. 44 Go on, please. I 
want you to finish." 

There was authority in his voice, but 
Molly sat in unbroken silence. 

He waited for several moments, then laid 
a perfectly steady hand on her knee. 

44 You have been wondering " he said. 

She did not raise her head. As if under 
compulsion, she answered him with her face 
still hidden. 

44 1 have dared to wonder if — perhaps — 
you would take me— instead. I — am not in 
love with anybody else, and I never would 
be. If you are in love with Phyllis, I won't 
go on. But if it is just beauty you care for, 
I am no worse-looking than she is. And I 
should do my best to please you." 

The low voice sank. Molly's habitual self- 
possession had wholly deserted her at this 
critical moment. She was painfully conscious 
of the quiet hand on her knee. It seemed 
to press upon her with a weight that was 
almost intolerable. 

The silence that followed was terrible to 
her. She wondered afterward how she sat 
through it. 

Then at last he moved and took her by the 
wrists. 44 Will you look at me?" he said. 

His voice sent a quiver through her. She 
had never felt so desperately scared and 
ashamed in all her healthy young life. Yet 
she yielded to "the insistence of his touch and 
tone, and met the searching scrutiny of his 
eyes with all her courage. He was not 
angry, she saw ; nor was he contemptuous. 
More than that she could not read. She 
lowered her eyes and waited. Her pulses 
throbbed wildly, but still she kept herself 
from trembling. 

44 Is this a definite offer?" he asked at 

44 Yes," she answered. Her voice was very 
low, but it was steady. 

He waited a second, and she felt the 
mastery of the eyes she could not meet. 

44 Forgive me," he said, then ; 4i but are you 
actually in earnest ? " 

44 Yes," she said again, and marvelled at 
her own daring. 

His hold tightened upon her wrists. 4C You 
are a very brave girl" he said. 




There was a baffling note in his tone, and 
she glanced up involuntarily. To her intense 
relief she saw the quizzical, kindly look in his 
eyes again. 

44 Will you allow me to say," he said, " that 
I don't think you were created for a consola- 
tion prize ? " 

He spoke somewhat grimly, but his tone 
was not without humour. Molly sat quite 
still in his hold. She had a feeling that she 
had grossly insulted him, that she had made 
it his right to treat her exactly as he chose. 

After a moment he set her quietly free. 

44 I see you are serious," he said. " If you 
weren't — it would be intolerable. But do 
you actually expect me to take you at your 
word ? " 

She did not hesitate. " I wish you to," 
she said. 

44 You think you would be happy with me ? " 
he pursued. " You know, I am called 
eccentric by a good many." 

" You are eccentric," said Molly, " or you 
wouldn't dream of marrying one of us. As 
to being happy, it isn't my nature to be 
miserable. I don't want to be a countess, 
but I do want to help my people. That in 
itself would make me happy." 

44 Thank you for telling me the truth," 
Wyverton said, gravely. 44 I believe I have 
suspected some of it from the first. And 
now listen. I asked your sister to marry me 
— because I wanted her. But I will spoil 
no woman's life. I will take nothing that 
does not belong to me. I shall set her free." 

He paused. Molly was looking at him 
expectantly. His face softened a little under 
her eyes. 

44 As for you," he said, " I don't think you 
quite realize what you have offered me— how 
much of yourself. It is no little thing, Molly. 
It is all you have A woman should not 
part with that lightly. Still, since you have 
offered it to me, I cannot and do not throw 
it aside. If you are of the same mind in six 
months from now, I shall take you at your 
word. But you ought to marry for love, 
child — you ought to marry for love." 

He held out his hand to her abruptly, and 
Molly, with a burning face, gave him both 
her own. 

44 I can't think how I did it," she said, in a 
low voice. " But I — I am not sorry." 

44 Thank you," said Lord Wyverton, and 
he stooped with an odd little smile, and 
kissed first one and then the other of the 
hands he held. 

No one, save Phyllis, knew of the contract 

Digitized by dOOgle 

made on that golden morning in June on the 
edge of the flowering meadows ; and even to 
Phyllis only the bare outlines of the interview 
were vouchsafed. 

That she was free, and that Lord Wyverton 
felt no bitterness over his disappointment, he 
himself assured her. He uttered no word of 
reproach He did not so much as hint that 
she had given him cause for complaint. He 
was absolutely composed, even friendly. 

He barely mentioned her sister's inter- 
ference in the matter, and he said nothing 
whatsoever as to her singular method of 
dealing with the situation. It was Molly 
who briefly imparted this action of hers, and 
her manner of so doing did not invite 

Thereafter she went back to her multitu- 
dinous duties without an apparent second 
thought, shouldering her burden with her 
usual serenity ; and no one imagined for a 
moment what tumultuous hopes and doubts 
underlay her calm exterior. 

Lord Wyverton left the place, and the 
general aspect of things returned to their 
usual placidity. 

The announcement of the engagement of 
the vicar's eldest daughter to Jim Freeman, 
the doctor's assistant in the neighbouring 
town, created a small stir among the gossips. 
It was generally felt that, good fellow as 
young Freeman undoubtedly was, pretty 
Phyllis Neville might have done far better 
for herself. A rumour even found credence 
in some quarters that she had actually refused 
the wealthy aristocrat for Jim Freeman's sake, 
but there were not many who held this belief. 
It implied a foolishness too sublime. 

Discussion died down after Phyllis's return 
to her work. It was understood that her 
marriage was to take place in the winter. 
Molly's hands were, in consequence, very 
full, and she had obviously no time to talk 
of her sister's choice. There was only one 
visitor who ever called at the Vicarage in 
anything approaching to state. Her visits 
usually occurred about twice a year, and 
possessed something of the nature of a Royal 
favour. This was Lady Caryl, the Lady of 
the Manor, in whose gift the living lay. 

This lady had always shown a marked 
preference for the vicar's second daughter. 

44 Mary Neville," she would remark to her 
friends, u is severely handicapped by circum- 
stance, but she will make her mark in spite 
of it. Her beauty is extraordinary, and I 
cannot believe that Providence has destined 
her for a farmer's wife." 

It was on a fogev afternoon at the end of 
.« rixriii c 




November that Lady Caryl's carriage turned 
in at the Vicarage gates for the second state 
call of the year. 

Molly received the visitor alone. Her 
mother was upstairs with a bronchial attack. 

Lady Caryl, handsome, elderly, and aristo- 
cratic, entered the shabby drawing-room with 
her most gracious air. She sat and talked 
for a while upon various casual subjects. 
Molly poured out the tea and responded with 
her usual cheery directness. Lady Caryl did 
not awe her. Her father was wont to remark 
that Molly was impudent as a robin and 
brave as a lion. 

After a slight pause in the conversation 
Lady Caryl turned from parish affairs with an 
abruptness somewhat characteristic of her, 
but by no means impetuous. 

" Did you ever chance to meet Earl 
Wyverton, my dear Mary?" she inquired. 
" He spent a few days here in the summer." 

44 Yes," said Molly. " He came to see us 
several times." 

The beautiful colour rose slightly as she 
replied, but she looked straight at her ques- 
tioner with a directness almost boyish. 

"Ah ! " said Lady Caryl. •' I was away from 
the Manor at the time, or I should have asked 
him to stay there. I have always liked him." 

" We liked him too," said Molly, simply. 

11 He is a gentleman," rejoined Lady Caryl, 
with emphasis. " And that makes his mis- 
fortune the more regrettable." 

" Misfortune ! " echoed Molly. 

She started a little as she uttered the word 
— so little that none but a very keen observer 
would have noticed it. 

" Ah 1 " said Lady Caryl. " You have not 
heard, I see. I suppose you would not hear. 
But it has been the talk of the town. They 
say he has lost practically every penny he 
possessed over some gigantic American 
speculation, and that to keep his head 
above water he will have to sell or let 
every inch of land he owns. It is par- 
ticularly to be regretted, as he has always 
taken his responsibilities seriously. Indeed, 
there are many who regard his principles as 
eccentrically fastidious. I am not of the 
number, my dear Mary. Like you, I have 
a high esteem for him, and he has my most 
heartfelt sympathy." 

She ceased to speak, and there was a little 

14 How dreadful ! " Molly said then. " It 
must be far worse to lose a lot of money 
than to be poor from the beginning." 

The flush had quite passed from her face. 
She even looked slightly pale. 

Digitized by V^OOQle 

Lady Caryl laid down her cup and rose. 
"That would be so, no doubt," she said. 
"I think I shall try to persuade him to come 
to us at the end of the year. And your 
sister is to be married in January? It will 
be quite an event for you all. I am sure 
you are very busy — even more so than usual, 
my dear Mary." 

She made her stately adieu and swept 

After her departure Molly bore the tea- 
cups to the kitchen and washed them with 
less than her usual cheery rapidity. And 
when the day's work was done she sat for 
a long while in her icy bedroom, with the 
moonlight flooding all about her, thinking, 
thinking deeply. 

It was the eve of Phyllis's wedding-day, 
and Molly was hard at work in the kitchen. 
The children were all at home, but she had 
resolutely turned every one out of this, her 
own particular domain, that she might com- 
plete her gigantic task of preparation undis- 
turbed. The whole household were in a 
state of seething excitement. There were 
guests in the house as well, and every room 
but the kitchen seemed crowded to its utmost 
capacity. Molly was busier than she had 
ever been in her life, and the whirl of work 
had nearly swept away even her serenity. 
She was very tired, too, though she was 
scarcely conscious of it. Her hands went 
from one task to another with almost 
mechanical skill. 

She was bending over the stove, stirring a 
delicacy that required her minute attention, 
when there came a knock on the kitchen door. 

She did not even turn her head as she 
responded to it. " Go away ! " she called. 
" I can't talk to anyone." 

There was a pause — a speculative pause — 
during which Molly bent lower over her 
saucepan and concluded that the intruder 
had departed. 

Then she became suddenly aware that the 
door had opened quietly and someone had 
entered. She could not turn her head at the 

11 Oh, do go away ! " she said. " I haven't 
a second to spare ; and if this goes wrong I 
shall be hours longer." 

The kitchen door closed promptly and 
obligingly, and Molly, with a little sigh of 
relief, concentrated her full attention once 
more upon the matter in hand. 

The last critical phase of the operation 
arrived, and she lifted the saucepan from the 
fire and turned round with it to the table. 








In that instant she saw that which so 
disturbed her equanimity that she nearly 
dropped saucepan and contents upon the 
kitchen floor. 

Earl Wyverton was standing with his back 
against the door, watching her with eyes 
that shone quizzically under the meeting 

He came forward instantly, and actually 
took the saucepan out of her hands. 

** Let me/' he said. 

Molly let him, being for the moment 
powerless to do otherwise, 

"Now," he said, "what does one do — 
pour it into this glass thing? I see. Don't 
watch me, please ; I*m nervous/' 

Molly uttered a curious little laugh that 
was not wholly steady. 

" How did you come here?" she said. 


He did not 
answer her till 
he had safely 
what he had 
unde rtaken. 
Then he set 
down the sauce- 
pan and looked 
at her. 

" I am stay- 
ing with Lady 
Caryl," he told 
her gravely, " I 
arrived this after- 
noon. And I 
have come here 
to present a 
humble offering 
to your sister, 
and to make a 
equally humble 
to you, I arrived 
here in this room 
by means of a 
process called 
bribery and corruption. But if you are too 
busy to listen to me, I will wait." 
"I can listen," Molly said. 
He had not even shaken hands with her, 
and slu: fell .strangely uncertain of herself. 
She was even conscious of a childish desire 
to run away. 

He took her at her word at once " Thank 
you," he said, "Now, do you remember a 
certain conversation that took place between 
us six months ago?" 
11 1 remember," she said. 
An odd sense of powerlessness had taken 
possession of her, and she knew it had become 
visible to him, for she saw his face alter. 

11 1 know I'm ugly," he said, abruptly; 
" but I'm not frowning, believe me." 

She understood the allusion and laughed 
rather faintly. IC I'm not afraid of you, Lord 
Wyverton," she said. 

He smiled at her, "Thank you," he said. 
"That's kind. I'm coming to the point. 
There are just two questions I have to ask 
you, and Pve done. First, have they told 
you that I'm a ruined man?" 

Molly's face became troubled "Yes," 
she said. u Lady Caryl told me. I was 
very sorry — for you." 

She uttered the last two words with a 
conscious effort He was mastering her in 
some subtle fashion, drawing her by some 
means irresistible. li3 |^? m felt almost as if 




some occult force were at work upon her. 
He did not thank her for her sympathy. 
Without comment he passed on to his 
second question. 

11 And are you still disposed to be gener- 
ous?" he asked her, with a directness that 
surpassed her own. "Is your offer — that 
splendid offer of yours — still open ? Or 
have you changed your mind? You mustn't 
pity me overmuch. I have enough to live 
on — enough for two " — he smiled again that 
pleasant, sudden smile of his — " if you will do 
the cooking and polish the front door-knob." 

" What shall you do ? " demanded Molly, 
with a new-found independence of tone that 
his light manner made possible. 

"I shall' clean the boots," he answered, 
promptly, "or swab the floors, or, it may 
be" — he bent slightly towards her, and she 
saw a new light in his eyes as he ended — "it 
may be, stand by my wife to lift the saucepan 
off the fire, or do all her other little jobs 
when she is tired." 

Again, and more strongly, she felt that he 
was drawing her, and she knew that she was 
joing— going into deep waters in which his 
hand alone could hold her up. She stood 
before him silently. Her heart was beating 
very fast. The surging of the deep sea was 
in her ears. It almost frightened her, though 
she knew she had no cause to fear. 

And then, suddenly, his hands were upon 
her shoulders and his eyes were closely 
searching her face. 

" I offer you myself, Molly," he said, and 
there was ringing passion in his voice, though 
he controlled it. " I loved you from the 
moment you offered to marry me. Is not 
that enough ? " 

Yes ; it was enough. The mastery of it 
rolled in upon her in a full flood-tide that no 
power of reasoning could withstand. She 
drew one long, gasping breath — and yielded. 
The splendour of that moment was greater 
than anything she had ever known. Its 
intensity was almost too vivid to be borne. 

She stretched up her arms to him with a 
little sob of pure and glad surrender. There 
was no hiding what was in her heart. She 
revealed it to him without words, but fully, 
gloriously, convincingly, as she yielded her 
lips to his. And she forgot that she had 
desired to marry him for his money. She 
forgot that the family clothes were threadbare 
and the family cares almost impossible to 
cope with. She knew only that better thing 
which is greater than poverty or pain or death 
itself. And, knowing it, she possessed more 
than the whole world, and found it enough. 

Vol. xxxviii. — 24 


Late that night, when at last Molly lay 
down to rest with the morrow's bride by her 
side, there came the final revelation of that 
amazing day. Neither she nor Wyverton had 
spoken a word to any of that which was 
between them. It was not their hour ; or, 
rather, the time had not arrived for others to 
share in it. 

But as the two girls clasped one another 
on that last night of companionship Phyllis 
presently spoke his name. 

" I actually haven't told you what Lord 
Wyverton did, Moll," she said. " You would 
never guess. It was so unexpected, so over- 
whelming. You know he came to tea. You 
were busy and didn't see him. Jim was 
there, too. He came straight up to me and 
said the kindest things to us both. We were 
standing away from the rest. And he put an 
envelope into my hand and asked me, with 
his funny smile, to accept it for an old 
friend's sake. He disappeared mysteriously 
directly after. And — and — Molly, it was a 
cheque for a thousand pounds." 

"Good gracious ! " said Molly, sharply. 

" Wasn't it simply amazing?" Phyllis con- 
tinued. " It nearly took my breath away. 
And then Lady Caryl arrived, and I showed 
it to her. And she said that the story of his 
ruin was false, that she thought he himself 
had invented it for a special reason that had 
ceased to exist. And she said that she 
thought he was richer now than he had ever 
been before. Why, Molly, Molly— what has 
happened ? What is it ? " 

Molly had suddenly sprung upright in bed. 
The moonlight was shining on her beautiful 
face, and she was smiling tremulously, while 
her eyes were wet with tears. 

She reached out both her arms with a 
gesture that was full of an infinite tenderness. 

" Yes," she said, " yes, I see." And her 
glad voice rang and quivered on that note 
which Love alone can strike. " It's true, 
darling. It's true. He is richer now than 
he ever was before, and I — I have found 
endless riches too. For I love him — I love 
him — I love him ! And — he knows it ! " 

" Molly ! " exclaimed her sister in amaze- 

Molly did not turn. She was staring into 
the moonlight with eyes that saw. 

"And nothing else counts in all the 
world," she said. " He knows that too, as 
we all know it — we all know it — at the bottom 
of our hearts." 

And with that she laughed — the soft, 
sweet laugh of Love triumphant — and lay 
back again by her siisf er's side. 


From a ^Aofu, by Mtnrt- lilcftuJUtd & Co.. HnUnyt. 

"My Reminiscences. 




REMEMBER a distinguished 
Hibernian politician once re- 
marking, "Air. Furniss does 
not desire to add to the list of 
Irish grievances. He does not 
claim to be an Irishman*" Yet 
I first saw the light in Ireland fifty-five sum- 
mers ago— which reminds rne of the maiden 
lady who acknowledged to fifty-five summers, 
"And how many winters?" asked an un- 
gallant male. I hardly dare hope, save in 
my very sanguine moments, that the ancient 
town of Wexford — my birthplace — will honour 
me with a memorial tablet. My father was a 
typical Englishman, hailing from Yorkshire, 
and not in his appearance only, but in his 
taster and sympathies, was an unmistakable 
John Bull By profession he was a civil 
engineer. My mother was Scotch. 

As one does noL remember much of that 
period of his life before he reaches his 

Digitized by L^OOgle 

'teens I need not apologize for quoting a too- 
flattering reference to me at that age : " One 
who was his playmate describes Mr, Furniss 
as very small of stature, full of animation and 
merriment, constantly amusing himself and 
his friends with clever reproductions of 
humorous characters, or scenes that met his 
eye in the ever-fruitful gallery of living art — 
gay, grotesque, pathetic, even beautiful — that 
the streets and outlets of such a town as 
Wexford present to a quick eye and ready 

Leaving Wexford before the railway there 
was opened, my parents removed to the 
Metropolis of Ireland, and I went to school 
in Dublin at the age of twelve. Whilst I was 
at this school I remember being very much 
impressed by a heading in my copy-book, 
which ran : "He who can learn to write can 
learn to draw," Now this was putting the 
cart before the horse so far as my experience 




had gone, for I could most certainly draw 
before I could write, and had not only 
become an editor before I was fit to become 
a contributor, but was also a publisher befce 
I had even seen a printing press. 

The first cartoon I ever drew appeared m 
the Si/wo ihn's Punchy of which I was sole pro- 
prietor, producer (it was in pen and ink, pub- 
lished monthly), editor, and contributor. By 
the way, George Bernard Shaw was at the same 
school ; I remember him well. Sir Edward 
Carson was another boy, and the Hon. J. H. M. 
Campbell, member for Dublin University, 
I also recall My first cartoon was, artfully, a 
complimentary treatment of the head master. 
So well was my juvenile effort received that 
it is not too much to say it decided my 
future career. From that day forward I 
clung to the pencil, and in a few years was 
regularly contributing *' cartoons 11 to public 
journals and practising the profession I 
have ever since followed. Drawing, in fact, 
seemed to come naturally and intuitively 
to me. I did not altogether escape the 
thraldom of the drawing-master, and as 
years went on I made a really serious 
effort to study at an art 
school under the Kensing- 
ton system, which I believe 
to be positively prejudicial 
to a young artist possessing 
imagination and originality. 
A short time of the dreari- 
ness of art education under 
the Kensington system suf- 
ficed to disgust me with the 
art school, and I preferred 
to stay at home caricaturing 
my relatives and practising 
alone the rudiments of my 

Early in my J teens t how- 
ever, I was invited to join the 
Life School of the Hibernian 
Academy. But here also 
there was no idea of proper 
teaching. Some fossilized 
member of the Academy 
would stand about, toasting 
his toes over the fire. He 
used to stroll around the easels, and you 
became conscious of his approaching presence 
by an aroma of onions* 

I was now in my seventeenth year. I 
accepted every kind of work that was offered 
me, and a strange medley it was. About this 
period, too, a leading surgeon was anxious 
that I should devote myself to the pursuit of 
his anything but pleasant form of art, and 

seriously proposed that I should draw and 
paint for him some of his surgical eases. I 
accepted his offer without hesitation. Anxious 
to distinguish myself as an anatomical expert 
with the brush, I gave instructions for our 
family butcher to lend to me, as a model to 
study from, a kidney, which was to be as 
repulsive in appearance as possible* So 
realistic was my treatment in water colours 
of this piece of uncooked meat that the 
effect on me was the very opposite to what 
I expected, and disgusted me to such an 
extent that I not only declined to pursue 
further anatomical illustrations, but for years 
afterward I was quite unable to touch a 

About this time someone had been good 
enough to inform me that black -and wfciite 
artists were in the habit of engraving their 
own work, and, believing this, I duly provided 
myself with some engraving tools. But my 
work was not a success until I had some 
tuition from a professional engraver, I 
continued to engrave my own drawings until 
I left Dublin. Since then I have never 
utilized one of my gravers except to pick a 
lock or open a tin of sardines. 
In 1 #7j I came to Lon- 
don in search of fame and 
wealth. Just prior to my 
leaving Ireland I met no less 
an editor than Turn Taylor, 
who was then the presiding 
genius of the Punch table, 
and he gave me every en- 
couragement to hasten my 
migration. Before setting out 
for Holyhead I visited the 
West of Ireland, and the 
sketches 1 made there formed 
part of my stock-in-trade 
when I arrived in Ixmdon. 
I remember one evening 
during my sojourn in the 
West of Ireland I was 
strolling quietly back to 
my hotel when something 
powerful seized my leg with 
a grip of iron. 1 was held 
in a vice and could hardly 
By what — a huge dog -a wolf? 
No ; something heavier, something more 
hideous, something clothed. It turned out 
to be a dwarf, muttering something in 
Irish I could not understand, except one 
word — "Judy ! 3i "Judy ! ;J It was a woman 
of extraordinary strength thus clasped on 
to me. Before I was released I had to 



1 88 


for half a crown. I still have the recollection 
of the vice-like grip. 

I did not make my appearance in London 
with merely the proverbial half a crown in 
my pocket, nor did I expect to find the 
streets of London paved with gold. The 
balance at my bankers' was sufficient to keep 
me at least for a year. 

One of my first engagements was for a 
still flourishing sixpenny illustrated. The 
editor and proprietor were never to be seen 
at the office, and I soon found out that they 
were always at a Bohemian club close by. 
In order to get commissions I had to go to 
this club, of which I eventually became a 
member. I aroused much curiosity and atten- 
tion when it became known that " I was the 
member who had paid his subscription " ! 

Frequently have I been pushed for time. 
On one occasion I received from the editor 
of the Illustrated London News a telegram 
saying that I was to go at once to an election 
at Liverpool On my arrival I rushed off to 
a " ward meeting," and was surprised to find 
the artist of a rival paper sitting beside me. 
In order to get the advantage of him, if 
possible, I sat up all night, drew a page on 
wood, ready for engraving, and sent it off by 
first train in the morning. It was in the press 
before my rival's rough notes left Liverpool. 

During my Parliamentary work I witnessed 
many remarkable encounters between Mr. 
Disraeli and Mr. Gladstone. Mr. Disraeli in 
the course of his remarks once had occasion 
to quote a passage from a recent speech 
made by his rival upon some platform in the 
country. Suddenly Mr. Gladstone started 
up and exclaimed, " I never said that in my 
life." For some time after this Disraeli was 
silent, and, putting his hands behind his 
back, gazed, apparently in blank astonish- 
ment, at the box in front of him. For three 
minutes he stood motionless. Of course, the 
members could not understand the meaning 
of this strange silence, but eventually Disraeli 
began, " Mr. Chairman and gentlemen," and 
then, word for word, he repeated the whole 
speech of Mr. Gladstone from which he had 
made his quotation, duly introducing the 
particular passage which the Liberal leader 
had denied. Then he paused and looked 
across at his rival. The challenge was not to 
be avoided, and Mr. Gladstone subsided. 

Once I posed as a political prophet. Six 
months before the election of July, 1892, 
when Mr. Gladstone was confident of "sweep- 
ing the country" and coming back with a 
majority of one hundred and seventy or so, 
when both sides predicted a decisive result 

Digitized by LiOOQ IC 

and political prophets were sure of large 
figures, I predicted the Gladstonians a 
majority of between forty and forty- five. 
The actual majority was forty - two. I 
received many congratulations on my fore- 
sight. A letter I wrote to the Times, stating 
that I had predicted a majority of between 
forty and forty-five, created a great sensation, 
editorial leaders appearing in the principal 
papers all over the kingdom. 

For seven years I worked for Lewis 
Carroll, the author of "Alice in Wonderland," 
illustrating that celebrated and eccentric 
author's book, " Sylvie and Bruno " — a 
work full of refreshing charm of humour 
and of grace. I was constantly illustrating 
the current stories of leading novelists, and 
I never scamped my work. All my drawings 
were carefully made from life. In Carroll's 
book, and in my own " Romps," my children 
figured as my models, as they dQ in some of 
my later works as well. But I never spared 
trouble or expense to find suitable models to 
work from, and I was never satisfied unless I 
made a study from the life. 

Although I am generally thought of as a 
Punch artist, my name was familiar and I was 
fully employed long before Mr. Punch e\er 
thought of asking me to work for the leading 
comic journal. 

Unknown strangers have frequently re- 
ferred to me as "a conventional comic 
draughtsman of funny, ill-drawn little figures." 
Caricature pure and simple is not the art I 
either care for or succeed in, so well 
as I do in my less-known more serious 
and finished work. When I joined Punch, 
at the age of twenty-six, I had had nine-tenths 
of my time previous to that occupied (ever 
since I was fifteen years of age) in drawing 
far more elaborate work than would be in 
keeping with a journal such as Punch. 
Punch required funny little figures, and I 
supplied them. As an illustration of the 
varied work I have done, once a society 
Church paper wished to present a series of 
supplement portraits of the leading clergy, 
and I was selected as the artist ; and when 
"General" Booth's wife was on her death- 
bed the "General" offered me an open 
cheque to make a sketch of her, which 
portrait was to be reproduced and sold in 
millions in her memory. When Sir Henry 
Irving died, I designed the " In Memoriam " 
cartoon for the Daily Telegraph, and I am at 
the present moment at work upon a serious 
effort, which has already occupied most of 
my time for the last five years, and I have 
two years more of hard labour before me. 




As I have already mentioned, my first 
meeting with a representative of Punch was 
in Ireland, when I saw Mr. Tom Taylor, but 
it was not until he had passed away that I 
was invited to " join the table " of Mr. Punch. 
I remember, some time after I had been on 
the staff, as I was leaving home the youngest 
member of my family inquired where I was 
going. "To dine with Mr. Punch," I 
replied. "Oh, haven't you eaten all his 
hump yet, papa ? It does last a long time." 
And, thinking I was dining on Mr. Punch, 
the little chap was quite concerned about my 
long-drawn-out act of cannibalism. 

Mr. M. H. Spielmann, author of "The 
History of Punch? says : " Furniss romped 
through Punch's pages." I was the new 
editor's new man. For twelve years I helped 
to infuse new life into that well-known journal, 
contributing over two thousand six hundred 
designs to its pages, and receiving for my 
work more money than any other con- 
tributor—Leech not excepted — had or ever 
has done since within the same period. 

I then started Lika Jbko, which was a nom 
de crayon with which I had familiarized the 
readers of Punchy and now I took it as the 
title of my new venture. The first appear- 
ance of Lika Joko caused a tremendous 
sensation. Over a hundred and forty thou- 
sand copies sold within a few days, and 
when I stopped it— to take over the large 
sixpenny, The New Budget— Lika Joko had 
a sale of over 40,000 a week, and had settled 
down to a success. 

In 1887 I endeavoured to set the Thames 
on fire by exhibiting at the Gainsborough 
Gallery, New Bond Street, a parody on a 
large scale of an average Royal Academy 
Exhibition. The idea of this first occurred 
to me after I had dined with a friend. He 
took me to his picture-gallery to show me a 
portrait of his wife, just completed by a fairly 
well-known R.A. It was a very bad portrait, 
and it saddened me to think how low modern 
art had become. In the drawing-room a musi- 
cal humorist was cleverly taking off the weak 
points of his brother musicians, and bringing 
out into strong light their peculiarities and 
faults of style. When I reached home that 
night I thought of this humorist, and decided 
to similarly expose the tricks and eccen- 
tricities of British art in the present day. 
The following day saw me starting on what I 
sailed my " Artistic Joke." I was determined 
to keep the matter secret, and for three years 
I allowed no one in my studio who would be 
likely to divulge the nature of my work. 

The magnitude of the work was much 

t > Ogle 

greater than I had expected. Before I could 
really make a start I had to examine each 
artist's work thoroughly. I then designed a 
picture in imitation of each artist. In very 
few instances did I parody an actual work. 
Those who visited the exhibition generally 
lost sight of this fact, a good many thinking 
that I took a certain picture of a particular 
artist and burlesqued it. Certainly I did 
this in the case of Millais's "Cinderella " and 
one or two others, but a majority of the 
ideas was evolved from my own imagination. 

A date was fixed for the opening of the 
exhibition, and in order to get the pictures 
finished in time I had to work far into the 
night. About three o'clock one morning I 
became conscious of the smell of something 
burning, and a catastrophe nearly happened 
which would have put an end not only to the 
exhibition, but also myself and my family. I 
made a search round the studio, but could find 
no indication of anything being on fire. Then 
a dreadful thought occurred to me. Beneath 
my studio was a vault. Thinking perhaps the 
secret of my " Artistic Joke " had become 
known to a vindictive Academician, who had 
concealed himself below and had set the 
place on fire, I opened the trap-door and 
explored the vault. But no one was there. 
I searched the house, but still could find 
nothing indicating that there was a fire. I 
returned to my studio, but it was not until 
I had been working some time that I found 
out, through a shower of sparks descending 
upon my shoulders, that the smell originated 
from the top of my easel coming in contact 
with the gas. 

My exhibition was a great success, even 
from the first day of opening. In fact, on 
the private view day the place was besieged 
by a fashionable crowd at a very early hour. 

Some very amusing incidents occurred in 
the house of my " Royal Academy." It was 
no uncommon sight to see the friends and 
relatives, and sometimes sons and daughters, 
of the well-known Academicians enjoying my 
caricature at the expense of the friend or 
parent who had painted the original. Other 
R.A.'s who went about pooh-poohing the 
whole affair turned up at the Gainsborough 
Gallery. Generally they did not remain 
long, but came only to see what I had made 
of their art mannerisms, and after one 
glance went swiftly away. 

A showman, particularly with some attrac- 
tion of the passing hour, must "boom his 
show for all it's worth," as the Americans say; 
so I " boomed " my " Artistic Joke," and at 
the same tiime parodied another branch of 




art — the art of advertising 
the artists — by special 
magazine numbers devoted 
to the work of an Acade- 
mician. So 1 brought out 
"How He Did It: The 
Story of My 'Artistic Joke.' * J 

In the accompanying 
photograph — the frontis- 
piece of the brochure — I 
sustained my contention 
that backs are as interest- 
ing as faces. All the por- 
traits in my exhibition were 
bark views. I believe the 
human back divine — why 
not as divine as human 
fronts?- -is full of expres- 
sion and teems with 
character, as everyone who 
has had the world turn its 
hack upon him knows full 

This book of sixty pages, 
which, by the way, was the 
forerunner of " Wisdom 
While You Wait" and 
similar productions, sold 
extremely well, and, strange 
to saj'j I made more money 
out of this joking adver- 
tisement — the work of a 
few days — than I did out 
of my elaborate album of seventy photo- 
gravure plates, which occupied two years to 


produce and cost me two 
thousand pounds. 

At length, after the 
strain and stress in con- 
nection with my exhibition 
during which time orders 
for caricatures seemed to 
pour in, I wa-? advised to 
go for a sea voyage* 

Round the world I w^nt, 
visiting among many other 
countries America, Canada, 
and Australia. I have 
sketched crowned heads 
on their thrones, bishops 
in their pulpits, thieves in 
their dens, and beauties 
in their drawing-rooms ; 
but I never felt such 
nervousness as I did when 
I had to caricature myself 
on the occasion of my 
first experience of 
American interviewing, 

What impressed me 
most when I visited New 
York was the number of 
chiropodists' advertise- 
ments- They confronted 
me everywhere. Huge 
gilded models of feet out- 
side the chiropodists' esta 
blishments, some painted 
realistically and many adorned with bunions, 
seemed everywhere before me as I passed 

" r'^f ^WT A V1 K1,AN j^'i'KNAi.iOnginrBtfrehFriA stranger. 




through the streets. If I looked up I saw 
them suspended from the first-floor window, 
or painted on canvas on the front of a house. 
If I avoided the shops I was bound to knock 
up against some gentleman in the gutter en- 
cased in a long white waterproof, on which 
were portrayed the inevitable foot and the 
name and address of the chiropodist. 

Many were the things that struck me as 
being very peculiar in 
America. Oh, the 
number of photo- 
graphers ! " Photo- 
graphers I Have 
Met " is the title of a 
book I shall some day 
publish. Few people in 
England, I should say, 
have faced the camera 
more than I have. In 
nearly every town I 
have visited I have 
undergone the opera- 
tion, and the result is 
a collection of criminal- 
look in g, contorted 
countenances of a de- 
scription seldom seen 
outside the museum of 
a police-station. But 
1 was determined not 
to incur this risk in 
America, and although 
photographers almost 
implored me to sit to 
them for a moment I 
never consented. How- 
ever, I was secured by 
stratagem. One morn- 
ing I was walking along 
Union Square with a sarony, of new voRK t 
friend, who suddenly 
stepped into a door- 
way, pulling me with him. He touched a 
bell ; down came an elevator. He pushed me 
inside, up we went, and I soon found myself 
in front of Sarony, the great photographer of 
New York. 

In turn I visited all the chief towns of 
America, and I could easily fill a whole 
number of The Strand Magazine with 
interesting incidents which happened during 
my wanderings. I had a letter of introduc- 
tion to the captain of a certain fire brigade. 
One day whilst I was speaking to him in the 
engine-room I noticed some horses standing 
by. Suddenly the alarm-bell rang, and before 
I looked round again, seemingly by magic, 
but in reality by electricity, the halters fell 

from the horses' heads, and to my surprise, 
without anyone being near them, they 
rushed to their places at the shaft of the 
engine. There were manholes in the ceiling, 
through which brass rods were suspended 
vertically; down these slid half- dressed 
men, who seemed to turn a somersault 
into their clothes during the descent on to 
the engine. The harness suspended above 

the horses 
dropped on to 
their backs, 
and in an in- 
stant they 
were in the 
street, the en- 
gine manned, 
the fire ablaze, 
and away the 
horses raced. Suddenly a 
whistle from the captain 
stopped them. It was a 
false alarm given for my 
edification. Before the 
engine was back in the 
station I was conducted 
by the captain into the 
dormitory, where 1 con- 
cealed myself under a bed. 
Without a grumble the 
men came up and literally 
walked out of their clothes, 
for boots, pants, and every- 
thing are all of one piece. 
These they opened care- 
fully, laid them ready by 
the side of their beds, and 
very soon were all snoring, 
fast asleep. 

After America I visited 
Australia. As soon as I 
arrived I went about in 
search of a type of the 
for my pictures, and was 
from my hotel window 
the real Australian when 
the captain of the ship I had travelled 
by came in and said: "Oh, there's that 
Cockney, Miss So and-so ! " She had come 
over in the same boat, second class, and had 
never been in Australia before. I recollect 
a similar instance in Ottawa, Canada. I was 
returning from Government House, where I 
had been taken by the mayor to sign the 
visitors' book, and as we were returning in 
an electric car I sat opposite a fine, smart 
specimen of a youth. I whispered to my 
Canadian friend, " Is that a genuine type of 
a true Canadian ? J " Yes ; a perfect type," 



Australian girl 
sketching one 
as typical of 

i9 2 


was the reply. I made the sketch. The 
following evening I was the guest at Govern- 
ment House, and to my surprise I noticed 
that one of the servants at dinner was the 
typical Canadian I had sketched. He was 
MaeSandy, fresh from Aberdeen ! 

I have often posed as a lecturer. My first 
appearance on the platform was at the Savage 
Club, when I gave a lecture on "Art and 
Artists," standing on a table, just previous to 
my giving it in public. I don't know how it 
is, but it is a fact that there is nothing more 
unnerving than to stand on a table* Anyone 
can with ease stand on a chair and hang up 
a picture or anything of that sort, but stand- 
ing on a table has the effect of making you 
grow weak at the knees and light in the 
head. However, my first lecture was well 

Sometimes I discovered in my audience 
the public men I was 1( taking off" in my 
entertainment. This more frequently hap- 
pened in the " Humours 
of Parliament/ 1 where 
the M.P. of the place in 
which I appeared came 
if I was not too unkind 
to him. But it more 
often happened he sent 
a member of the family 
in advance to find out 
whether he was being 
lampooned or not 4 Once 
when I was lecturing on 
" America in a Hurry/' 
and was "billed" to 
appear for two nights, a 
curate was sent to report. 
It so happened that I 
imitated a lisping country 
parson struggling through 
a wretched entertain- 
ment with a lantern! 
He went back and con- 
demned my show un- 
mercifully, and the party 
did not go ! 

I remember once, when 
I was giving a lecture on 
" Portraiture : Past and 
Present," and illustrating 
the portraits on medals 
with the aid of a lantern, 
I came to some near the 
bottom of the screen. 
" Here," said I, " we 
have the Lord Mayor and the Lady Mayoress 
of London, 1300 ad." At that moment the 
mayor and mayoress of the town, who, 

Jfamn a Photograph bv tta»tw. 


10. for 

effect, I suppose, had come in a quarter of 
an hour late to the seats reserved for them in 
the centre of the hall, walked past the rays 
of the lantern, and were, of course, thrown on 
the screen, and, as can be supposed, caused 
an effect that had not been anticipated. 

On another occasion a fly was an offender 
whilst I was giving a lecture with the aid of 
a lantern. I was showing some portraits of 
Mr. Gladstone in my entertainment, "The 
Humours of Parliament." 1 was telling my 
audience, as I pointed to the pictures on the 
screen, that one moment he looks like this 
and at another he looks like that, when there 
was a great burst of laughter. I proceeded 
to speak about Gladstone's flashing eye and 
noble brow, and by the time I mentioned 
something about his aquiline nose my 
audience seemed to be in hysterics* Think- 
ing that by some mischance the wrong picture 
was being thrown on the screen, I turned 
round, and was at first horrified to see a 
gigantic fly apparently 
walking about on the 
nose of the Grand Old 
Man. It appeared that 
the fly had got into the 
lantern, had been caught 
between the lenses, and 
was being magnified a 
hundredfold on to the 

Of course, it would be 
impossible for me to 
deal here with all the 
interesting dinners and 
other entertainments I 
have assisted at. I have 
attended all sorts and 
renditions, but I must 
confess that I was very 
much flattered by a lunch 
given to me whilst in 
Washington, U.S. A, The 
novelty of this lunch was 
the idea of the chairman 
to sandwich each course 
with a story. At another 
time I was the guest of 
the New York Pointed 
Beards. To become a 
member or a guest of 
this club each person 
was obliged to wear a 
pointed beard. The beard 
must not be false, but 
even whilst I was there one guest was 
ejected when it was found out that the hair he 
was wearing GfJ^^g^jip^^his chin was not 




his own. Even the tables were ornamented 
with lamps having shades cut to represent 
pointed beards. 

In 1894 I presided at a dinner of the 
Thirteen Club ; my only appearance as an 
honorary member of that extraordinary 
club. It was held at the Holborn Restaurant 
in Room Thirteen, the number of tables 
was thirteen, and thirteen diners sat at each 
table. Each wore a badge in the form 
of a peacock's feather. The knives and 
forks were crossed, the salt-cellars made in 
the shape of coffins, and the salt spilt freely. 
A looking-glass was placed beside each mem- 
ber and guest, and during the evening we 
were called upon to break them. It fell to 
me to present each chairman with a pen- 
knife, and I had to refuse the customary coin 
in return. I was presented with a large 
knife containing all kinds of implements, 
which I treasure as a memento of the dinner. 
These are k few details I had to deal with in 
addition to the 
usual toasts. I 
proposed* the 
loyal to^st as 
follows : — 









Never shall I 

forget that even- 

this year?" said 
a friend of mine 
to me the other 
day. No. The 
towns paying my 
fee are few and 
far between, and 

it doe* not pay one nowadays to go on tour. 
I have had twenty-two years of it. Years 
ago it was a profitable business to travel 
and lecture, but those who came to one- 


man shows now go to theatres, and those 
who went to theatres now go to music-halls, 
and those who engaged entertainers privately 
now have no money. So that lecturing is 
now only an excuse to travel and keep 
up pleasant acquaintanceships — that's all 
Besides, I am too busy writing and drawing 
— busier than I have ever been in my 

That reminds me of a funny incident. You 
know, I am seldom in my flat in London — 
too busy in a charming spot by the sea, 
working in fresh air far from the madding 
crowd of motors ; too fond of pure ozone in 
place of petrol ; early to bed and early to 
rise, and all that kind of thing. I get my 
models down from London. Last week a 
charming young lady was sitting to me for 
the first time. 

She had been sitting from nine o'clock in 
the morning until six in the evening. (It 
is wonderful what a lot one can do in such 

air.) I was 
working at high 
pressure, and 
therefore had 
bribed the young 
lady to sit 
longer. Figure 
after figure I 
sketched in my 
studio, which 
looked like a 
print shop after a 
storm. As the 
day drew to a 
close, the young 
lady model 
said : — 

"Did your 
father, the Punch 
artist, work 
as hard as 
you do ? You 
never seem to 

'"My dear 
young lady," I 
replied, "my 
father was not 
an artist. / was on Punch many years." 

" Good gracious ! You are that Harry 
Furniss ! I thought he was dead, or retired, 
or too old to work years ago ! " 

VoL xxxviii.— 25. 

by Google 

Original from 

XKe WHite PropKet. 


[The reader who has not followed the previous portions of this story can readily understand and enjoy 
the following chapters by simply bearing in mind that Colonel Gordon Lord, who is in love with- 
Helena, the daughter of the General of the British Army of Occupation in Egypt, has been ordered 
to arrest Ishmael Ameer, known as the " White Prophet," and to close .the University of El Azhar (the greatest 
seat of Mohammedan learning in the world), and, after a terrific struggle between his conscience and his 
duty as a soldier, has refused to carry out his commands, which arc transferred to Colonel Macfarlane. In 
consequence of this refusal his decorations have been stripped from him and his -sword broken by the father 
of the girl he loves. Subsequently, in a stormy interview, the General attacks him in a fit of fury, and 
in the ensuing struggle falls dead, while the Colonel believes that he is himself guilty of his murder. 
Colonel Macfarlane, while carrying out his orders, is assaulted by Colonel Lord, who, feeling his reputation 
ruined, remains in hiding. Shortly after, in the disguise of a Bedouin, he decides to go to Khartoum, 
to which place Ishmael Ameer is also on his way, leaving Helena under the impression that her father has been 
murdered by the "White Prophet." In the dress of a Parsee lady Helena, for purposes of revenge, also goes 
to Khartoum, where she encounters Ishmael Ameer, and while acting as his secretary becomes his betrothed. 
In pursuance of her plan, Helena advises the Consul-General (Gordon Lord's father) of Ishmael Ameer's forth- 
coming return to Cairo. Subsequently she has a dramatic meeting with Gordon Lord, who confesses, to her 
consternation, that he, and not Ishmael Ameer, killed her father. Knowing that immediately Ishmael Ameer 
sets foot in Cairo he will be arrested, by reason of Helena's information, Gordon Lord obtains permission to go 
in his stead. He learns, too, much to his relief, that General Graves's death was due mainly to heart disease. 
Helena resolves to forsake Ishmael and to escape with Gordon from the country.] 

* SECOND BOOK :-The Light of the World. 

ORDON did not allow himself 
to sleep that night, lest he 
should not be awake when the 
hour came to go. The room 
he shared with Ishmael was 
large, and it had one window 
looking to the river and another to Khartoum. 
Through these windows, which were open, he 
heard every noise of the desert town by night. 
It had been late when Ishmael came to 
bed, and even then, being excited and in 
high spirits, and finding Gordon still awake, 
he had talked for a long time in the 
darkness of his preparations for the forth- 
coming pilgrimage and his hopes of its 
progress across the desert— three and a half 
miles an hour, fourteen hours a day, making 
a month for the journey altogether. But 
finding that Gordon did not reply, and think- 
ing he must be sleepy, he wished him a good 
night and a blessed morning, and then, with 
a few more words that were trustful, affec- 
tionate, warm-hearted, and brotherly, he fell 

It was after twelve by this time, and though 
Gordon intended to rise at three it seemed 
to him that the few hours between would 
never end. He listened to the measured 
breathing of the sleeping man and counted 
the cries outside, but the time passed as if 
with feet of lead. 

It was never quite dark, and through the 

Copyright, 1909, by Hnll Caine, 

luminous dark blue of the Southern night, 
fretted with stars, nearly everything outside 
could be dimly seen. Of all lights that 
is the one most conducive to thought, and 
in spite of himself Gordon could not help 
thinking. The obstinate questions which he 
had been able to crush down during the day 
were now rising to torment him. 

11 What will happen when this household, 
which is now asleep, awakes in the morn- 
ing ? " he asked himself. 

He knew quite well what would happen. 
He would soon be missed. Helena would 
be missed too, and it would be concluded 
that they had gone together. But after he 
had banished the picture which rose to his 
mind's eye of the confusion that would ensue 
on the discovery of their flight, he set himself 
to defend it. 

It was true he was breaking the pledge he 
had made to the people when he undertook 
to go into Cairo, but he had made his 
promise under a mistake as to his own 
position, and therefore it was not incumbent 
upon him to keep it now that he knew the 

It was true that Helena was breaking the 
betrothal which she had entered into with 
Ishmael, but she, too, had acted under an 
error, and therefore her marriage was not 
binding upon her conscience. 

But do what he would to justify himself he 
could not shake off a sense of deceit and 

in the United Sta Acs of America. 



even of treachery. He thought of Ishmael 
and how he had heaped kindness and honour 
upon him since he came to Khartoum. He 
thought of Helena and of the shame with 
which her flight would overwhelm the man 
who considered himself her hushand. 

"Goon!" something seemed to say in a 
taunting whisper. " Fly away ! Seek your 
own happiness and think of nothing else ! 
This is what you came to Khartoum for ! 
This is what your great hopes and aims 
amount to ! Leave this good man in the 
midst of the confusion you have brought 
upon him ! Let him go into Cairo, innocent 
though he is, and die by the cruel error of 
fate ! That's good ! That's brave ! That's 
worthy of a man and a soldier ! " 

Against thoughts like these he tried to set 
the memory of old Mahmud's words at the 
meeting of the sheikhs : " Man cannot resist 
his destiny. If God wills that you should 
go into Cairo you will go, and God will 
protect you ! " 

But there was really only one way to recon- 
cile himself to what he intended to do, and 
that was to think of Helena and to keep her 
beautiful face constantly before him. 

It was now three o'clock, and Gordon, 
who had not undressed, rose to a sitting 
position on his bed. 

This brought him face to face with 
Ishmael, whose angerib was on the opposite 
side of the room. The Arab was sleeping 
peacefully. He, too, had lain down in his 
clothes, having to rise early, but he had 
unrolled his turban, leaving nothing on his 
head but his Mecca skull cap, which made 
him look like the picture of a saintly Pope. 

Gordon felt as if he were a thief and a 
murderer — stealing from and stabbing the 
man who loved and trusted him. He had 
an almost irresistible impulse to waken 
Ishmael there and then and tell him plainly 
what he was about to do. But the thought 
of Helena came back again, and he remem- 
bered that that was quite impossible. 

At length he rose to go. He was still 
wearing Hafiz's slippers, but he found himself 
stepping on his toes to deaden the sound of 
his tread. When he got to the door he 
opened it carefully so as to make no noise ; 
but just at that moment the sleeping man 
stirred and began to speak. 

In the toneless voice of sleep, but, never- 
theless, with an accent of affection which 
Gordon had never heard from him before, 
Ishmael said : — 

"Rani! My Rani!" 

Gordon stood and listened, not daring to 

move. After a moment all was quiet again. 
There was no sound in the room but 
Ishmael 's measured breathing as before. 

How Gordon got out at last he never quite 
knew. When he recovered his self-posses- 
sion he was in the guest-room, drawing aside 
the curtain that covered the open doorway 
and feeling the cool, fresh, odourless desert 
air on his hot face and in his nostrils. 

He saw Black Zogal stretched out at the 
bottom of the wooden steps, fast asleep and 
with his staff beside him. The insurgent 
dawn was sweeping up, but all was silent 
both within and without. Save for the 
Nubian's heavy snoring there was not a 
sound about the house. 

Feeling his throat to be parched, he turned 
back to the water niche for a drink, and whfle 
he was lifting the can to his lips he heard a 
step behind him. He thought it must be 
Zogal, but it was not. It was a post-office 
messenger with a black-bordered letter in his 

The letter was for 

"Sheikh Omar Benani, in the care of 
Ishmael Ameer." 

It had come by a train which arrived late 
last night and it was marked for special 

Gordon took it and opened it with trembling 
fingers, and read it at a glance as one reads a 
picture. It was from Hafiz, and it told him 
that his mother was dead. 

Then all the pent-up pain and shame of the 
night rolled over him like a breaking wave, 
and as soon as the messenger had gone he 
dropped down on to the nearest seat and 
wept like a child. 

Contrary to Gordon's surmise, Helena had 
slept soundly, with the beautiful, calm con 
fidence of one who relied absolutely upon 
him and thought her troubles were over; but 
she awoke at half-past three as promptly as if 
an alarum clock had wakened her. 

Then, dressing rapidly in her usual mixed 
Eastern and Western costume, and throwing 
a travelling cloak over her shoulders instead 
of her Indian veil, but giving no thought to 
the other belongings which she must leave 
behind, she stepped lightly out of the 

The moment she entered the guest-room she 
heard a moan, and, before realizing where it 
came from, she said : — 

"Who's there?" 

Then Gordon lifted his tear-stained face 






to her face, and, without speaking, held out 
the letter which hung from his helpless hand. 

She took it and read it with a sense of 
overwhelming disaster, while Gordon, with that 
access of grief which at the first moment of 
a great sorrow the presence of a loved one 
brings, heaped reproaches upon himself, as if 
all that he had done at the hard bidding of 
his conscience had been a sin and crime, 

" Poor mother ! My poor, dear mother ! 
It was I who made her last days unhappy." 

Half an hour went by in this way, and the 
time for going passed. Helena dared not 
tell him that their opportunity for flight was 
slipping away — it seemed like an outrage to 
think of that now — so she stood by his side, 
feeling powerless to comfort him and dazed 
by the blow that had shattered their hopes. 

Then Black Zogal, being awakened by the 
sound of Gordon's weeping, came in with his 
wild eyes, and after him came Abdullah, and 
then Zenoab, who, gathering an 

i*. of 

trouble, went off to awaken 
Ishmael and old Mahmud, 
so that in a little while the 
whole of the Arab house- 
hold were standing round 
Gordon as he sat doubled 
up on the edge of a divan. 
When Ishmael heard 
what had happened he 
was deeply moved, and, 
sitting down by Gordon's 
side, he took one of his 
hands and smoothed it, 
while in that throbbing 
voice which went to the 
heart of everybody, and 
with a look of suffering 
in his swarthy face and 
luminous black eyes, he 
spoke some sympathetic 

"All life ends in death, 
my brother. This world 
is a place of going, not 
of staying. The mystery 
of pain— who can fathom 
it? Life would be unbear- 
able but for one thought 
— that God is over all. 
He rules everything for 
the besL Yes, believe me, 
everything. I have had 
my hours of sorrow, 
too, but I have always 
iound it so." 

After a while Gordon 
was able to control his 
grief, and then Ishmael asked him if he 
would not read aloud his letter. With some 
reluctance Gordon did so, but it required all 
his self-control to repeat his mother's message. 
Leaving out the usual Arabic salutations, 
he began where Hafiz said :- — 

"With a heavy heart I have to tell you, 
my most dear brother, that your sweet and 
saintly mother died this morning. She had 
been sinking ever since you went away, but 
the end came so quickly that it took us all 
by surprise/' 

Gordon's voice thickened, and Ishmael 
said : — 

"Take your time, brother." 
"She had the consolation of her religion, 
and I think she passed in peace. There was 
only one thing clouded her closing hours* 
On her deathbed she was constantly express- 
ing an earnest hope that you might all be 
reunited — you and she and your father and 
Helena, who £t»Qjittttlsfo far apart" 





" Take time, O my brother," said Ish- 
mael, and, seeing that Helena was also 
moved, he took her hand too, as if to 
strengthen her. 

Thus he sat between them, comforting 
both, while Gordon in a husky voice 
struggled on. 

" Not long before she died she wished to 
send you a message, but the power of life 
was low in her and she could not write, 
except to sign her name (as you see below), 
and then she did not know where you were 
to be found. But my mother promised her 
that I should take care that whatever she said 
would come to your hands, and these were 
the words she sent : * Tell my boy that my 
last thoughts were about him. Though I am 
sorry he took the side of the false . . . the 
false prophet . . .'" 

" Go on, brother, go on," said Ishmael, in 
his soft voice. 

" . . . * say I am certain he did what he 
thought was right. Be sure you tell him I 
died happy, because . . . because I know I 
shall see him again. If I am never to see 
him in this world I will do so in the world 
to come. Say . . . say I shall be waiting 
for him there. And tell him it will not seem 
long/ " 

It was with difficulty that Gordon came to 
the end, for his eyes were full of tears and 
his throat was parched and tight, and he 
would have broken down altogether but for 
the sense of Helena's presence by his side. 

Ishmael was now more deeply moved than 

" How she must have loved you ! " he 
said, and then he began to speak of his own 
mother and what she had done for him. 

"She was only a poor, ignorant woman, 
perhaps, but she died to save me, and I loved 
her with all my heart." 

At that the two black servants, Abdullah 
and Zogal, who had been standing before 
Gordon in silence, tried to utter some homely 
words of comfort, and old Mahmud, wiping 
his wet eyes, said : — 

11 May God be merciful to your mother, 
my son, and forgive her all her sins." 

"She was a saint — she never had any," 
replied Gordon, whereupon the Arab nurse, 
who alone of all that household had looked 
on at this scene with dry and evil eyes, said 
bitterly : — 

" Nevertheless she died as a Christian and 
an unbeliever, therefore she cannot look for 

Then Helena's eyes flashed like fire into 

It the blood 

the woman's face, and Gordon felt 

rush to his head, but Ishmael was before 
them both. 

" Zenoab, ask pardon of God," he said, and 
before the thunder of his voice and the 
majesty of his glance the Arab woman fell back. 

" Heed her not, my brother," said Ishmael, 
turning back toGordon, and then he added: — 

" We all serve under the same General, and 
though some of us wear uniform of red, and 
some of brown, and some of blue, he who 
serves best is the best soldier. In the day of 
victory will our General ask us the colour of 
our garments ? No ! " 

At that generous word Gordon burst into 
tears once more, but Ishmael said : — 

" Don't weep for one who has entered into 
the joys of Paradise." 

When Gordon had regained his com- 
posure Ishmael asked him if he would read 
part of the letter again, but knowing what 
part it would be — the part about himself — 
he tried to excuse himself, saying he was not 
fit to read any more. 

" Then the Rani will read," said Ishmael, 
and, far as Helena would have fled from the 
tragic ordeal, she could not escape from it. 
So in her soft and mellow voice she read on 
without faltering, until she came to her own 
name, and then she stopped, and the tears 
began to trickle down her cheeks. 

" Go on," said Ishmael ; " don't be afraid 
of what follows." 

And when Helena came to "false prophet" 
he turned to Gordon and said : — 

" Your dear mother didn't know how much 
I love you. . . . But she knows now," he 
added, " for the dead know all." 

There was no further interruption until 
Helena had finished, and then Ishmael said: — 

"She didn't know, too, what work the 
Merciful had waiting for you in Khartoum. 
Perhaps you did not know yourself. Some- 
thing called you to come here. Something 
drew you on. Which of us has not felt like 
that? But God guides our hearts — the 
Merciful makes no mistakes." 

Nobody spoke, but Gordon's eyes began 
to shine with a light which Helena, who was 
looking at him, had never seen in them before. 

" All the same," continued Ishmael, " you 
hear what your mother says, and it is not for 
me to keep you against your will. If you 
wish to go back now none shall reproach you. 
Speak, Omar, do you wish to leave me ? " 

There was a moment of tense silence, in 
which Gordon hesitated, and Helena waited 
breathlessly for his reply. Then, with a great 
effort, Gordon answered : — 

" No 'Qrioinsl from 




"El Hamdullillah!" cried the two black 
servants, and then Ishmael sent Zogal into 
the town and the camp to say that the 
faithful would bid farewell to Omar in the 
mosque the following night, 

That evening, after sunset, instead of 
preaching his usual sermon to the people 
squatting on the sand in front of his house, 
Ishmael read the prayers for the dead, while 
Gordon and Helena and a number of the 
sheikhs sat on the divans in the guest-room. 

When the service was over and the com- 
pany was breaking up, the old men pressed 
Gordon's hand as they were passing out and 
said :— 

"May God give you compensation!" 

As soon as they were gone Gordon 
approached Helena and whispered hur- 
riedly : — 

"I must speak to you soon. Where can 
it be?" 

" 1 ought to go to the water- women's well 
hy the Goods Landing to morrow morning," 
said Helena. 

"At what hour?" 


"I shall be there," said 

His eyes were still full 
of the strange wild light. 

he said, indicating a road that went down the 
empty and unfrequented tongue of land that 
leads to the point at which the Blue Nile 
and the White Nile meet- 

" Helena," he said> stepping closely by her 
side and speaking almost in her ear, "there 
is something I wish to say — to ask— and 
everything depends on your answer — what 
we are to do and what is to become of us," 

11 What is it ? " said she, with trembling 

"When our escape from Khartoum was 
stopped by the letter telling me of my 
mother's death I thought at first it was only 
an accident— a sad, strange accident that it 
should arrive at that moment." 

" And don't you think so now ? ** she 

" No ; I think it was a divine intervention," 

She glanced up at him. u He is going to 
talk about the betrothal," she thought. 

But he did not do so, In his intense and 
poignant voice he continued : — 


At ten o'clock next morn- 
ing Helena was at the well 
by the Goods landing, 
where the water - women 
draw water in their earthen 
jars to water the gardens 
and the streets, and while 
standing among the gross 
creatures who, with their 
half-naked bodies and stark- 
naked souls, were crowding 
about her for what they 
could get, she saw Gordon 
coming down in his 
Bedouin dress with a firm, 
strong step. 

His flickering steel-blue 
eyes were as full of light 
as when she saw them last, 
but that vague suggestion 
of his mother which she 
had hitherto seen in his 
face was gone, and there 
was a look of his father 
whinh she had never 
observed before. 

11 Let us walk this way/' 


*let cs walk Ti^Srhaug^lifgpjixin,/' 



"When I proposed that we should go 
away together I supposed your coming here 
had been due to a mistake — that my coming 
here had been due to a mistake — that your 
sending that letter into Cairo and my promis- 
ing to take Ishmael's place had been due to 
a mistake — that it had all been a mistake — 
a long, miserable line of mistakes." 

"And wasn't it?" she asked, walking on 
with her eyes to the sand. 

" So far as we are concerned, yes ; but 
with God . . . with God Almighty mistakes 
do not happen." 

They walked some paces in silence, and 
then, in a still more poignant voice, he 
said : — 

" Don't you believe that, Helena ? Wasn't 
it true — what Ishmael said yesterday? Can 
you possibly believe that we have been 
allowed to go on as we have been going — 
both of us — without anything being meant 
by it? All a cruel, stupid, merciless 
Almighty blunder?" 


" Well, think of what would have happened 
if we had been allowed t6 carry out our plan. 
Ishmael would have gone into Cairo as he 
originally intended, and he would have been 
seized and executed for conspiracy. What 
then? The whole country — yes, the whole 
country from end to end — would have risen 
in revolt The sleeping terror of religious 
hatred would have been awakened. It would 
have been the affair of El Azhar over again — 
Only worse, a thousandfold worse." 

Again a few steps in silence, and then : — 

"The insurrection would have been sup- 
pressed, of course, but think of the bloodshed, 
the carnage ! On the other hand . . ." 

She saw what was coming and with diffi- 
culty she walked steadily. 

"On the other hand, if /go into Cairo as 
I have promised to do — as I am expected to 
do — there can be no such result. The 
moment I arrive I shall be arrested, and the 
moment I am arrested I shall be identified 
and handed over to the military authorities 
to be tried for my offences as a soldier. 
There will be no religious significance in my 
punishment, therefore there will be no 
fanatical frenzy provoked by it, and con- 
sequently there can be no bloodshed. Don't 
you see that, Helena ? " 

She could not answer ; she felt sick and 
faint. After a moment he went on in the 
same eager, enthusiastic voice : — 

" But that's not all. There is something 
better than that." 

" Better — do you say better ? 

" Something that comes closer to us, at all 
events. . . . Do you believe in omens, 
Helena ? That some mystic sense tells us 
things of which we have no proof, no 
evidence ? " 

She bent her head without raising her eyes 
from the sand. 

" Well, I have a sense of some treachery 
going on in Cairo that Ishmael knows nothing 
about, and I believe it was just this treachery 
which led to the idea of his going there at all." 

She looked up into his face, and, thinking 
he read her thought, he said quickly : — 

"Oh, I know — I've heard about the letters 
of the Ulema — that those suggestions of 
assassination and so forth were signed by 
the simple old Chancellor of El Azhar. But 
isn't it possible that a subtler spirit inspired 
them ? . . . Helena ! " 

"Yes," she faltered. 

" Do you remember that one day in the 
Citadel I said it was not really Judas Iscariot 
who betrayed Jesus, and that there was some- 
body in Egypt now who was doing what the 
High Priest of the Jews did in Palestine two 
thousand years ago ? " 

"The Grand Cadi?" 

" Yes. Something tells me that that subtle 
old scoundrel is playing a double sword game 
— with the Ulema and with the Government 
— and that his object is not only to destroy 
Ishmael, but, by awakening the ancient 
religious terror, to ruin England as well — 
tempt her to ruin her prestige, at all events." 

They had reached the margin of the river, 
and he stopped. 

" Well ? " she faltered again. 

" Well, I am a British soldier still, Helena, 
even though I am a disgraced one, and I 
want to ... I want to save the good name 
of my country." 

She could not speak — she felt as if she 
would choke. 

" I want to save the good name of the 
Consul-General also. He is my father, and, 
though he no longer thinks of me as his son, 
I want to save him from . . . from himself. 

" I can do it, too," he added, eagerly. "At 
this moment I am perhaps the only man who 
can. I am nobody now — only a runaway 
and a deserter — but I can cross the line of 
fire and so give warning." 

" But, Gordon, don't you see ..." 

" Oh, I know what you are going to say, 
Helena. I must die for it, yes ! Nobody 
wants to do that if he can help it, but I 
can't ! Listen ! " 

She raised her eyes to his — they seemed to 
be ablaze with a kind of frenzy. 




44 Death was the penalty of what I did in 
Cairo, and if I did not stay there <to be 
court- martialled and condemned was it 
because I wanted to save my life ? No ; I 
thought there was nothing left in my life that 
made it worth saving. It was because I 
wanted to give it in some better cause. 
Something told me I should, and when I 
came to Khartoum I didn't know what fate 
was before me, or what I had to do, but I 
know now. This is what I have to do, 
Helena — to go back to Cairo instead of 
Ishmael, and so save England and Egypt and 
my father and these poor Moslem people, 
and prevent a world of bloodshed." 

Then Helena, who, in her nervousness, had 
been scraping her feet on the sand, said in a 
halting, trembling voice : — 

44 Was this what you wanted to say to me, 

44 Yes ; but now I want you to say something 
to me." 

44 What is that ? " she asked, trembling. 

" To tell me to go! 1 * 

It was like a blow. She felt as if she 
would fall. 

" I cannot go unless you send me, Helena 
— not as things stand now— leaving you here 
— under these conditions — in a place like 
this — alone. Therefore, tell me to go, 

Tears sprang to her eyes. She thought of 
all the hopes she had so lately cherished, all 
the dreams of the day before, of love and a 
new life among quite different scenes — sweet 
scenes, full of the smell of new-cut grass, the 
rustling of trees, the swish of the scythe, the 
songs of birds, and the ringing of church 
bells, instead of this empty and arid wilder- 
ness — and then of the ruin, the utter wreck 
and ruin, that everything was falling to. 

"Tell me to go, Helena— tell me!" he 

It was crushing. She could not bear it. 

44 I cannot," she said. " Don't ask me to 
do such a thing. Just when we were going 
away, too . . . expecting to escape from all 
this miserable tangle and to be happy at 
last. ..." 

"But should we be. happy, Helena? Say 
we escaped to Europe, America, Australia, any- 
where far "enough away, and what I speak of 
were to come to pass, should we be happy — 
should we?" 

44 We should be together, at all events, and 
we should be able to love each other ..." 

44 But could we love each other with the 
memory of all that misery — the misery we 
might have prevented — left here behind us?" 


44 At least we should be alive and safe and 

44 Should we be well if our whole life 
became abominable to us, Helena ? . . . On 
the other hand . . ." 

44 On the other hand, you want us to part, 
never to see each other again." 

44 It's hard — I know it's hard — but isn't 
that better than to become odious in each 
other's eyes ? " 

A cruel mixture of anger and sorrow and 
despair took possession of her, and, choking 
with emotion, she said : — 

44 1 have nobody but you now, yet you 
want me to tear my heart out — to sacrifice 
the love that is my only happiness, my only 
refuge. . . . Oh, I cannot do it ! You are 
asking me to send you into the jaws of death 
itself — that's it — the very jaws of death itself 
— and I cannot do it I tell you I cannot, 
I cannot ! There is no woman in the world 
who could." 

There was silence for a moment after this 
vehement cry, then in a low tone he said : — 

44 Every soldier's wife does as much when 
she sends her husband into battle, Helena." 

44 Ah ! " 

She caught her breath as if a hand from 
heaven had smitten her. 

44 Am I not going into battle now? And 
aren't you a soldier's daughter ? " 

There was another moment of silence, in 
which he looked out on the sparkling waters 
of the Blue Nile, and she gazed through 
clouded eyes on the sluggish waves of the 

Something had suddenly begun to rise in 
her throat. This was the real Gordon, the 
hero who had won battles, the soldier who 
had faced death before, and she had never 
known him until now ! 

A whirlwind of sensation and emotions 
seemed to race through her soul and body. 
She felt hot, she felt cold, she felt ashamed, 
and then all at once she felt as if she were 
being lifted out of herself by the spirit of the 
man beside her. At length she said, trying 
to speak calmly : — 

44 You are right, quite right ; you are 
always right, Gordon. If you feel like that 
about going into Cairo you must go. It is 
your duty. You have received your orders." 

44 Helena ! " he cried, in a burst of joy. 

44 You mustn't think about me, though. 
I'm sorry for what I said a while ago, but I'm 
better now. I have always thought that if 
the time ever came to me to see my dearest 
go into battle I should not allow myself to 
be afraid." 





" I was sure of you, Helena — quite sure," 

" This doesn't look like going into battle, 
perhaps, but it may be something still better 
— going to save life, to prevent bloodshed." 

" Yes, yes," he said ; and, struggling to 
control herself, she continued : — 

11 You mustn't think about leaving me 
here, either. Whatever happens in this 
place, I shall always remember that you love 
me, so ... so nothing else will matter." 

" Nothing — nothing ! " 

" And though it may be hard to think that 
you have gone to your death, and that 1 . . . 
that in a sense I have been the cause of 
it . . ." 

" But you haven't, Helena ! Your hand 
may have penned that letter, but a higher 
Power directed it." 

She looked at him with shining eyes, and 
answered in a firmer voice and with a proud 
lift of her beautiful head : — 

" I don't know about that, Gordon. I 
only know that you want to give your life 
in a great cause. And though they have 
degraded you and driven you out and hunted 
you down like a dog, you are going to die 
like a man and an Englishman." 

"And you tell me to do it, Helena ? " 

" Yes, for I'm a soldier's daughter, and in 
my heart I'm a soldier's wife as well, and I 
shouldn't be worthy to be either if I didn't 
tell you to do your duty, whatever the con- 
sequences to me." 

" My brave girl ! " he cried, clutching at 
her hand. 

Then they began to walk back. 

As they walked they encouraged each other. 

" We are on the right road now, Helena." 

"Yes, we are on the right road now, 

" We are doing better than run away." 

" Yes, we are doing better than run away." 

" The train leaves Khartoum this evening, 
and I suppose they want to say farewell to 
me in the mosque at sunset. . . . You'll be 
strong to the last, and not break down when 
the time comes for me to go ? " 

" No, I'll not break down . . . when the 
time comes for you to go." 

But, for all her brave show of courage, her 
eyes were filling fast and the tears were 
threatening to fall. 

"Better leave me now," she whispered. 
" Let me go back alone." 

He was not sorry to let her go ahead, 
for at sight of her emotion his own was 
mastering him. 

"Will she keep up to the end?" he asked 

Vol. xxxviif — 2a 


As the hours of the day passed on Helena 
became painfully aware that her courage was 
ebbing away. Unconsciously Ishmael was 
adding to her torture. Soon after the mid- 
day meal he called on her to write to his 
dictation a letter which Gordon was to take 
into Cairo. 

" One more letter, O Rani, only one, 
before our friend and brother leaves us." 

It was to the Ulema, telling them of the 
change in his plans and begging them to be 
good to Gordon. 

"Trust him and love him. Receive him 
as you would receive me, and believe that all 
he does and says is according to my wish 
and word." 

Helena had to write this letter. It was 
like writing Gordon's death-warrant. 

Later in the day, seeing her idle, nibbling 
the top of the reed pen which she held in 
her trembling fingers, Ishmael called for 
the farda. 

" Where is the farda, O Rani— the farda 
that was to disguise the messenger of God 
from his enemies ? " 

And when Helena, in an effort to escape 
from that further torture, protested that in 
Gordon's case a new farda was not essential, 
because he wore the costume of a Bedouin 
already, Ishmael replied : — 

" But the farda he wears now is white and 
every official in Khartoum has seen it. 
Therefore another is necessary, and let it be 
of another colour." 

At that, with fiendish alacrity, the Arab 
woman ran off for a strip of red silken wool, 
and Helena had to shape and stitch it. 

It was like stitching Gordon's shroud. 

The day seemed to fly on the wings of an 
eagle, the sun began to sink, the shadows to 
lengthen on the desert sand, and the time to 
approach for the great ceremony of the leave- 
taking in the mosque. Helena was for staying 
at home, but Ishmael would not hear of it. 

" Nay, my Rani," he said. " In the court- 
yard after prayers we must say farewell to 
Omar, and you must clothe him in the new 
farda that is to hide him from his foes. Did 
you not promise to do as much for me? 
And shall it be said that you grudge the same 
honour to my friend and brother ? " 

Half an hour afterwards, Ishmael having 
gone off hand in hand with Gordon, and old 
Mahmud and Zenoab and Ayesha and the 
two black servants having followed him, 
Helena put on a veil for the first time since 
coming to Khartoum, and made her way to 

the mosque. 

^Original from 




A moment later Helena was in the gallery ; 
the people had made way fur her, and she 
was sitting, as before, by J: he Arab woman 
and the child. Overhead was a brazen, 
blood - red Southern sky; below were a 
thousand men on crimson carpets — some in 
silks, some in rags, all moving and moaning 
like tumultuous waves in a cavern of the sea* 

The Reader in the middle of the mosque 
was chanting the Koran, the mueddin in the 
minaret was calling to prayers, the men on the 
floor were uttering their many throated re- 
sponses, and the very walls of the mosque itself 
seemed to be vibrating with religious fervour. 

A moment after Helena had taken her seat 
Ishmael entered, followed hy ( Sordou, and 
the people gathered round them to kiss their 
hands and garments. Helena felt her head 
reel ; she wanted to cry out, and it was with 
difficulty she controlled herself. 

Then the Reader stood up in his desk and 
recited an invocation and the people repeated 
it after him, 

After that Ishmael rose from his knees 
before the Kibleh, took the wooden sword at 
the foot of the pulpit, ascended to the 
topmost step, and, after a preliminary prayer, 
began lo preach, 

Never had Helena seen him so- eager and 
excited, and every 
passage of his 
sermon seemed to 
increase both his 
own ecstasy and 
the emotion of his 

Helena hardly 
heard his words, 
so far away were 
her thoughts, and 
so steadfastly were 
her eyes fixed on 
the other figure in 
front of the Kib- 
leh, but a general 
sense of their im- 
port was beating 
on her brain as 
on a drum. 

During the 
next few minutes 
Helena was 
vaguely aware 
that Ishmael had 
come down from 
the pulpit ; that 
the Reader was 
reciting prayers 
again ; that the 

men on the crimson carpets were bowing, 
kneeling, prostrating themselves, and putting 
their foreheads to the floor; and, finally, 
that the whole congregation was rising and 
surging out of the mosque. 

When she came to herself once more 
somebody by her side — it was Zenoab — was 
touching her shoulder and saying : — 

"The master is in the courtyard, and he is 
calling for you. Come ! " 

The scene outside was even more tumul- 
tuous. Instead of the steady solemnity of the 
service within the mosque there were the turn- 
tumming of the drums, the screeling of the 
pipes, and the lu-luing of the women. 

The great enclosure was densely crowded, 
but a space had been cleared in the centre 
of the courtyard s where the Ulema of 
Khartoum, in their grey farageeyahs, were 
ranged in a wide half-circle. In the mouth 
of this half circle Gordon was standing in his 
Bedouin dress t with Ishmael by his side. 

Silence was called, and then Ishmael gave 
Gordon his last instructions and spoke his 
last words of farewell. 

"Tell our brothers, the Ulema of Cairo," 
he saidj **that we are following close behind 
you, and when the time comes to enter the 
city we shall be lying somewhere outside 


by Google 

Original from 



their walls. Let them therefore put a light 
on their topmost height — on the minaret of 
the mosque of Mohammed Ali — after the 
call to prayers at midnight — and we shall 
take that as a sign that the Light of the World 
is with you, that the Expected One has 
appeared, and that we may enter in peace, 
injuring no man, being injured by none, 
without malice towards any and with charity 
to all." 

Then, seeing Helena as she came out of 
the mosque, veiled and with her head down, 
he called on her to come forward. 

"Now do as you have always designed 
and intended," he said. " Cover our friend 
and forerunner with the farda you have made 
for him, that until his work is done and the 
time has come to reveal himself he may, like 
the angel of the Lord, be invisible to his 

What happened after that Helena never 
quite knew — only that a way had been 
made for her through the throng of wild- 
eyed people and that she was standing by 
Gordon's side. 

Down to that instant she had intended to 
bear herself bravely, for Gordon's sake if not 
for her own, but now a hundred cruel 
memories came in a flood to sap away her 
strength — memories of the beautiful moments 
of their love, of the little passages of their 
life together that had been so tender and so 
sweet. In vain she tried to recover the 
spirit with which he had inspired her in the 
morning, to think how much better it was 
that he should die gloriously than live in 
disgrace, to feel the justice, the necessity, 
the inevitableness of what he was going 
to do. 

It was impossible. She could think of 
nothing but that she was seeing Gordon for 
the last time; that he was leaving her behind 
him among these Allah-intoxicated Arabs ; 
that he was going away, not into battle — with 
its chance of victory and its hope of life — 
but to death, certain death, perhaps shameful 
death ; and that — say what he would about 
Fate and Destiny or the will of God — she 
herself was sending him to his doom. 

She felt that the tears were running down 
her cheeks under her thin white veil, and 
that Gordon must see them, but she could 
not keep them back, and, though she had 
promised not to break down, she knew that 
at that last moment, in the face of the death 
that was about to separate them, the daunt- 
less heroine of the morning was nothing 
better now than a poor, weak, heart-broken 


Meantime the drums and the pipes and 
the lu-luing had begun again, and she was 
conscious that, under the semi-savage din, 
Gordon was speaking to her and comforting 

" Keep up ! Be brave ! Nobody knows 
what may happen. I'll write. You shall 
hear from me again." 

He had taken off the white farda which he 
had hitherto worn and she could see his face. 
It was calm — the calmest man's face in all 
that vast assembly. 

The sight of his face strengthened her, and 
suddenly a new element entered into the half- 
barbaric scene — an element that was half 
human and half divine. These poor, 
half-civilized people thought Gordon was 
going to risk his life for them, but he 
was going to die — deliberately to die for 
them — to save them from themselves, from 
the consequences of their fanaticism, the 
panic of their rulers, and the fruits of the 
age-long hatred that had separated the black 
man from the white. 

Helena felt her bosom heave, her nerves 
twitch, her fingers dig trenches in her palms, 
and her thoughts fly up to scenes of sacrifice 
which men talk of with bated breath. 

" If he can do it, why can't I ? " she asked 
herself, and, taking the red farda, which the 
Arab woman was thrusting into her hands, 
with a great effort she put it on to Gordon — 
over his head and under his chin, and across 
his shoulders and about his waist. 

It was like clothing him for the grave. 

Every eye had been on her, and when 
her work was done Ishmael, who was now 
weeping audibly, demanded silence, and 
called on y^the Ulema to recite the first 
Surah : — 

" Praise be to God ; the Lord of all 
creatures. ..." 

When the weird chanting had come to an 
end the hoarse voices of the people broke 
afresh into loud shouts of " Allah ! " " Allah ! " 
" El Hamdullillah ! " 

In the midst of the wild maelstrom of 
religious frenzy which followed, the tum- 
tumming of the drums, the screeling of the 
pipes, and the ululation of the women, 
Helena felt her hand grasped, and heard 
Gordon speaking to her again. 

" Don't faint ! Don't be afraid ! Don't 
break down at the last moment ! " 

"I'm not afraid," she answered, but 
whether with her voice or only with her lips 
she never knew. 

"God bless and protect you !" whispered 
the voice by her side, 






After that she 
heard no more. 
She saw the 
broad gate of the 
courtyard thrown 
open — she saw 
a long streak of 
blood ■ red sand 
outside — she saw 
Gordon turn 
away from her — 
she saw Ishmael 
embrace and kiss 
him — -she saw the 
surging mass of 
hot and stream- 
ing black and 
brown faces close 
about him — and 
then a loud wind 
seemed to roar 
in her ears, the 
earth seemed to 
give way under 
her fee t , 
seemed to reel 
about her head, 
and again she 
felt as if she 
were falling, 
falling, falling 
into a bottomless 

When she re- 
covered con- 
sciousness the 
half- barbaric 
scene was over, 
and she was 
being carried 
into the silence 
of her own room 
in the arms of 
Ishmael, who 
with many words 

of tender endearment was laying her gently 
on her bed, ^___ 

That day, under the two crnckling flags, the 
Crescent and the Union Jack, Lady Manner- 
ing had given a party in the garden of the 
Palace of the Sirdar, 

The physiognomy of the garden had 
changed since "the martyr of the Soudan" 
walked in it. Where scraggy mimosa bushes 
and long camel grasses had spurted up 
through patches of sand and blotches of 

Digitized by dOOgle 

■ >][]-. 

cracking earth 
there were the 
pleasant lawns, 
the sycamores, 
the date trees, 
and the blue 
streams o( run- 
ning water, And 
where the soli- 
tary soldier, with 
his daily whiten- 
ing head had 
paced to and fro 
with his face to 
the ground, 
smoking inter- 
minable cigar- 
ettes, there was 
a little group of 
officers of the 
military admini- 
stration, with their 
charming wives 
and daughters, a 
Coptic priest, a 
Greek priest, a 
genial old Pro- 
testant clergy- 
man, and a num- 
ber of European 
visitors, chiefly 
English girlsj 
wearing the light- 
est of white sum- 
mer costumes 
and laughing and 
chattering like 

In pith hel- 
mets and straw 
hats, Lady Man- 
ne ring's guests 
strolled about in 
the sunshine or 
drank tea at 
tables that were 
set under the cool shadow of spreading trees, 
while, at a little distance, the band of a black 
regiment— the Tenth Soudanese (sons and 
grandsons of the very men who, in the grey 
dawn of a memorable morning, had rushed 
in a wild horde into those very grounds for 
their orgy of British blood)— played selections 
from the latest comic operas of London and 
New York. 

The talk was the same all over the 
gardens — of the new Mahdi and his doings. 
4< Married to an Indian princess, you say?" 
"Oh, yes- Quite an emancipated person, 





too ! A sort of thirty -second cousin of the 
Rani of JhansL It seems she was educated 
by an English governess, kicked over the 
traces, became a sort of serai -religious Suffra- 
gette, and followed her holy man to Egypt 
and the Soudan." 

" How very droll ! It is too amusing ! n 

The Sirdar* who had gone indoors some 
time before, returned to the garden dressed 
for a journey. 

"Going away, your Excellency?" 

"Yes, for a few- weeks— to the lower Nile." 

His ruddy, good natured face was less bright 
than usual, and his manner was noticeably 
less buoyant A few of his principal officials 
gathered about him and he questioned them 
one by one, 

** Any fresh news, Colonel ? " he said, 
addressing the Governor of the city. 

"No, sir, A sort of singsong to-day in 
honour of the Bedouin sheikh— that's all I 
hear about." 

But the Financial Sec- 
retary spoke of further 
difficulties in the gathering 
of taxes — the land tax, the 
animal tax, and the tax on 
the date trees not having 
yet come in ; and then the 
Inspector-General repeated 
an opinion he had previ- 
ously expressed, that every- 
thing gave evidence of a 
projected pilgrimage, pre- 
sumably in a northerly 
direction and almost 
certainly* to Cairo, 

The Governor of the 
city corroborated this, and 
added that his Zabtia, his 
police-officer, had said that 
Ishmael Ameer, on passing 
to the mosque that day, 
had been saluted in the 
streets by a screaming 
multitude as the " Mes- 
senger" and the "Anointed 

"It's just as I say," said 
the Inspector - General. 
"These holy men develop 
by degrees. This one will 
hoist his flag as soon as 
he finds himself strong 
enough, unless we stop 
him before he goes farther 
and the Soudan is lost to 
civilization," < 

** Well, we'll see what 

Digitized by Vj< 

Nuneham says/' said the Sirdar, and at that 
moment his Secretary came to say that the 
launch was ready at the boat landing to take 
him across the river to the train. 

The Sirdar said good-bye to his guests, to 
his officers, and to his wife, and as he left the 
garden of the Palace the Soudanese band, 
sons of the Mahdi's men, played the number 
which goes to the words : — 

They never proceed to fnllow that tight, 
But they always follow me. 

Half an hour afterwards, while the Sirdar's 
black body-guard were ranged up on the 
platform of the railway station, and his black 
servant was packing his luggage in his com- 
partment, the Governor-General was standing 
by the door of the carriage with his A. IXC, 
giving his last instructions to his General 

"Telegraph to the Consul General and 
say « . . but please make a note of it" 

GIVING 1US LAST lNSTRU~C©pjH£fj|TO| m ^ ; ^M^AI SKr Rl, I ARY, "' 




%% Yes, sir/' said the Secretary, taking out 
his pocket book and preparing to write 

" Think it best to go down myself to deal 
personally with matter of suspected mutiny 
in native army. Must admit increasing 
gravity of situation. Man here is un 
doubtedly acquiring name and influence of 
Mahdi, so time has come to consider care- 
fully what we ought to do. Signs of intended 
pilgrimage, probably in northerly direction, 
enormous numbers of camels, horses, and 
donkeys having been gathered up from 
various parts of country and immense quan 
titles of food-stuffs being bought for desert 
journey Am leaving to-night and hope to 
arrive in four days " 

*' Four days," repeated the Secretary, as he 
came to an end 

At that moment a tall man in the costume 
of a Bedouin walked slowly up the platform. 
His head and most of his face were closely 
covered by the loose woollen shawl which 
the sons of the desert wear, leaving only his 

eyes, his nose, and part of his mouth visible. 
As he passed the Sirdar he looked sharply at 
him ; then, pushing forward with long strides 
until he came to the third-class compart- 
ments, he stepped into the first of them, 
which was full of coloured people, strident 
with high-pitched voices and pungent with 
Eastern odours. 

" Who was that ? " asked the Sirdar. 

" I don't know, sir," replied the Secretary. 
"I thought at first it was their Bedouin 
sheikh, but I see I was mistaken." 

Then came the whistle of the locomotive 
and its slow, rhythmic, volcanic throb. The 
guard saluted and the Sirdar gol into his 

" Well, good-bye, Graham ! Don't forget 
the telegram." 

"Til send it at once. ... In cipher, sir?" 

" In cipher, certainly." 

At the next moment the Sirdar and Gordon 
Lord, travelling in the same train, were on 
their way to Cairo. 

(End of Second Book.) 

THIRD BOOK :— The Coming Day. 

HE Consul-General had taken 
a firm grasp of affairs. Every 
morning his Advisers and 
Under-Secretaries visited him, 
and it seemed as if they could 
not come too often or say too 
much. He who rules the machine of State 
becomes himself a machine, and it looked 
as if Lord Nuneham were ceasing to be 
a man. 

Within a week after the day on which he 
received Helena's letter he was sitting in his 
bleak library, walled with Blue-books, with 
the Minister of the Interior and the Adviser 
to the same department. The Minister was 
the sallow-faced Egyptian Pasha whom he 
had made Regent on the departure of the 
Khedive ; the Adviser was a tall young 
Englishman with bright red hair, on which 
the red tarboosh sat strangely. They were 
discussing the " special weapon " which had 
been designed to meet special needs. The 
Consul-General's part of the discussion was 
to expound, the Adviser's was to applaud, the 
Minister's was to acquiesce. 

The special weapon was a decree. It was 
to be known as the Law of Public Security, 
and it was intended to empower the authori- 
ties to establish a special tribunal to deal 
with all crimes, offences, and conspiracies 


committed or conceived by natives against 
the State. It was to be called at any time 
and in any place on the request of the Agent 
and the Consul-General of Great Britain ; 
its sentences, which were to be pronounced 
forthwith, were not to be subject to appeal ; 
and it was to inflict such penalties as it might 
consider necessary, including the death 
penalty, without being bound by the pro- 
visions of the penal code. 

"And now tell me, Pasha," said the 
Consul-General, " how long a time will it 
take to pass this law through the Legislative 
Council and the Council of Ministers?" 

The Pasha looked up out of his small, 
shrewd eyes and answered : — 

"Just as long or as short as your lordship 

And then the Consul-General, who was 
wiping his spectacles, put them deliberately 
on to his nose, looked deliberately into the 
Pasha's face, and deliberately replied : — 

"Then let it be done without a day's 
delay, your Excellency." 

A few minutes afterwards, without too 
much ceremony, the Consul-General had dis- 
missed his visitors and was tearing open a 
number of English newspapers which Ibrahim 
had brought into the room. 

The first of them, the Times, contained a 
report of the Mansion House Dinner, headed 
Original from 



Speech by Foreign Minister." 

The Consul-General found the beginning 
full of platitudes. Egypt had become the great 
gate between the Eastern and Western hemi- 
spheres. It was essential for the industry 
and enterprise of mankind that that gate 
should be kept open, and therefore it was 
necessary that Egypt should be under a 
peaceful, orderly, and legal Government. 

Then, lowering the lights, the Minister had 
begun to speak to slow music. While it was 
the duty of the Government to preserve order, 
it was also the duty of a Christian nation in 
occupation of a foreign country to govern 
it in the interests of the inhabitants, and, 
speaking for himself, he thought the execu- 
tive authority would be strengthened, not 
weakened, by associating the people with the 
work of government. However this might 
be, the public could at least be sure that as 
long as the present Ministry remained in 
power it would countenance no policy on 
the part of its representatives that would 
outrage the moral, social, and, above all, 
religious desires of a Moslem people. 

The Consul-General flung down the paper 
in disgust. 

" Fossils of Whitehall ! Dunces of Downing 
Street ! " 

For some minutes he tramped about the 
room, telling himself again that he didn't 
care a straw what any Government and any 
Foreign Minister might say, because he had 
a power stronger than either at his back — the 

This composed his irritated nerves, and 
presently he took up the other newspapers. 
Then came a shock. Without an exception, 
the journals accepted the Minister's speech 
as a remonstrance addressed to him, and. 
reading it so, they sympathized with it. 

One of them saw that Lord Nuneham, 
however pure and beneficent his intentions 
might be, had no right to force his ideals 
upon an alien race. Another hinted that he 
was destroying England's prestige in her 
Mohammedan dominions, and, if permitted 
to go on, he would not only endanger the 
peace of Egypt, but also the safety of our 
Indian welfare. And a third, advocating the 
establishment of representative institutions, 
said that the recent arbitrary action of the 
Consul - General showed in glaringly dis- 
graceful colours the faults of the one-man 
rule which we granted to the King's repre- 
sentatives, while we denied it to the King 

The great Proconsul was for some 

by Google 

moments utterly shaken — the sheet-anchor 
of his public life was gone. But within half 
an hour he had called for his First Secretary 
and was dictating a letter to the Premier, 
who was also the Minister of Foreign Affairs. 

" Having read the report of your lordship's 
speech at the Mansion House," he said, " I 
find myself compelled to tell you that so 
great a difference between your lordship's 
views and mine makes it difficult for me to 
remain in Egypt. 

44 1 take the view that nine-tenths of these 
people are still in swaddling-clothes, and that 
any attempt to associate them with the work 
of government would do a grave injustice to 
the inarticulate masses for whom we rule the 

44 1 also take the view that Egypt is honey- 
combed with agitators, who, masquerading 
as religious reformers, are sowing sedition 
against British rule, and that the only way 
to deal with such extremists is by stern 

44 Taking these views and finding them at 
variance with those of your lordship, I respect- 
fully beg to tender my resignation of the post 
of Agent and Consul-General, which I have 
held through so many long and laborious 
years, and at the same time to express the 
hope that my successor may be a man qualified 
by knowledge and experience of the East to 
deal with these millions of Orientals, who, 
accustomed for seven thousand years to 
the dictation of Imperial autocrats, are 
so easily inflamed by fanatics and yield so 
readily to the wily arts of spies and secret 

Having finished the dictating of his letter, 
the Consul-General asked when the next mail 
left for England, whereupon the Secretary, 
whose voice was now as tremulous as his 
hand had been, replied that there would be 
no direct post for nearly a week. 

44 That will do. Copy out the letter and 
let me have it to sign." 

With a frightened look the Secretary turned 
to go. 

44 Wait ! Of course, you will observe 
absolute secrecy about the contents of it." 

With a tremulous promise to do so the 
Secretary left the room. 

Then the Consul-General took up a 
calendar that had been standing on his 
desk and began to count the days. 

44 Five — ten — fifteen, and five days more 
before I can receive a reply — it's enough," 
he thought. 

England's eyes would be opened by that 
time, and the public would see how much 

Original from 




the Government knew about Egypt. Accept 
ins resignation? They dare not ! It would 
do tli em good, though— serve as a rebuke 
and strengthen his own hands for the work 
he had now to do. 

What was that work ? To destroy the man 
who had robbed him of his son. 

Early the next morning the Consul General 
received a letter from the Princess Nazimah, 
saymg she had something to communicate, 
and proposed to come to tea with him. At 
five o'clock she came* attended by sais, foot 
men, outriders, and even eunuch, but wearing 
the latest of Paris hats and the lightest of 
chiffon veils. 

Tea was laid on the shady veranda over- 
looking the fresh verdure of the garden, with 
its wall of purple bougainvillea, and, thinking 
to set the lady at case, the Consul-General 
had told Fatimah, instead of Ibrahim, to serve 
it But hardly had they sat down when the 
Princess said, in 
French : — 

"Send that woman 
away. I don't trust 
women, I'm a woman 
my self , and I know 
too much of them/' 

A few minutes after 
wards she said, " Now 
you can give me a 
cigarette. Light it. 
That will do. Thank 
you ! " Then, squar- 
ing her plump person 
in a large cane chair, 
she prepared to speak, 
while the Consul- 
General, who was in 
his most silent mood, 
composed himself to 

'* I suppose you 
were surprised when 
this woman who blos- 
somed out of a harem 
wrote to say that she 
was coming to take 
tea with yuu ? Here 
she is, though ; and 
now she has some- 
thing to say to you." 

Then puff, puff, 
puff from the scarlet 
lips, whik- the pow- 
dered face grew 
hard and the eyes, 

heavily shaded with kohl^ looked steadfastly 

"1 have always suspected it, but I dis- 
covered it for certain only yesterday. And 
where did I discover it? In my own 

"What did you discover in your own 
salon % Princess ? " asked the Consul-General, 
in his tired voice. 

" Conspiracy ! " 

Trained as was the Consul-General's face 
to self-command, it betrayed surprise and 

41 Yes ; conspiracy against you and against 

11 You mean, perhaps, that the man Ishmael 
Ameer . . ." 

" Rubbish ! Ishmael, indeed ! He is 
in it, certainly. In a country like Egypt 
the holy man always is. Religion and 
politics are twins here— Siamese twins, you 
may say, for you couldn't get a slip of paper 
between them. . . . What's that? The 


r you JHi^lilgAnJ^!JJiflplS^«:oLAND. , ' 





Mahdist movement political ? Perhaps it 
was, but politics on the top of religion — the 
monkey on the donkey's back, you know. 
Always so in the East. The only way to 
move the masses is to make an appeal to 
their religious passions. They know that, 
and they've not scrupled to use their know- 
ledge, the rascals ! Rascals, that's what I 
call them. Excuse the word. I say what I 
think, Nuneham." 

" They ? Who are thev, Princess ? " 

"The Corps Diplomatique:' 

Again the stern face expressed surprise. 

" Yes, the Corps Diplomatique I " with a 
dig on every syllable. " Half-a-dozen of 
them were at my house yesterday, and they 
were not ashamed to let me know what they 
are doing." 

" And what are they doing, Princess ? " 

" Helping the people to rebel ! " 

Then, throwing away her cigarette, the 
Princess rose to her feet and, pacing to and 
fro on the veranda, with a firm tread that had 
little of the East and not much of the woman, 
she repeated the story she had heard in her 
salon — how Ishmael Ameer was to return to 
Cairo with twenty, thirty, forty thousand of 
his followers and some fantastic dream of 
establishing a human society that should be 
greater, nobler, wider, and more God - like 
than any that had yet dwelt on this planet ; 
how the diplomats laughed at the ridiculous 
hallucination, but were nevertheless preparing 
to support it in order to harass the Govern 
ment and dishonour England. 

"But how?" 

" By finding arms for the people to fight 
with if you attempt to keep their Prophet 
out ! Ask your inspectors ! Ask your police ! 
See if rifles bought with foreign money are 
not coming into Cairo every day. They tell 
me because I'm a Turk, but a Turk need not 
be a traitor, so I'm telling you." 

The iron face of the Consul-General grew 
white and rigid. 

" Why don't you turn them all out ? They 
are making nothing but mischief. The head 
of the idle man is the house of the devil, and 
the best way is to pull it down. Why not ? 
Capitulations? Pooh! While the meat hangs 
above the dogs will quarrel below. Dogs, 
that's what I call them. Excuse the word. 
I speak what I think." 

44 And the Egyptians — what are they 
doing ? " 

44 What are they always doing? Con 
spiring with your enemies to turn you out of 
the country on the ground that you are 
trampling on their religious liberty." 

d by CiOOgle 

Vol. xxxviii.- 27. 

"Which of them?" 

"All of them — pashas, people, effendis, 
officials, your own Ministers — everybody." 

" Everybody ? " 

" Everybody ! The stupids ! They can't 
see farther than the ends of their noses, or 
realize that they would only be exchanging 
one master for fourteen. What would Egypt 
be then ? A menagerie with all the gates of 
the cages open. Oh, I know ! I say what 
I think. I'm their Piincess, but they can 
take my rank to-morrow if they wish to." 

A second cigarette was thrown away and 
a powder-puff and small mirror were taken 
from a silver bag that hung by the lady's 

" But serve you right, you English ! 
You make the same mistake everywhere. 
Education ! Civilization ! Judicial reform ! 
Rubbish ! The Koran tells the Moslem 
what to believe and what to do, so what 
does he want with your progress ? " 

The powder-puff made dabs at the white 
cheeks, but the lady continued to talk. 

"Your Western institutions are thrown away 
on him. It's like a beautiful wife married to 
a blind husband — a waste ! " 

The sun began to set behind the wall of 
purple creeper, and the lady rose to go. 

" No news of your Gourdan yet ? No ? He 
was the best of the bunch, and I simply lost 
my heart to him. You should have kept him 
more in hand, though. . . . You couldn't ? 
You, the greatest man in . . . Well, there's 
something to say for the Eastern way of 
bringing up boys, it seems." 

Hardly had the Consul-General returned 
to his library after the departure of the 
Princess, when his Secretary brought him a 
telegram from the Sirdar— the same that he 
had dictated at Khartoum -telling of the 
intended visit to Cairo, of the preparations 
for Ishmael's projected pilgrimage, and of 
the danger that was likely to arise from the 
growing belief in the Prophet's " divine " 

44 So our friend is beginning to understand 
the man at last," he said, with an expression 
of bitter joy. 44 Meet him on his arrival. 
Tell him I have much to say." 

That night, when the Consul-General went 
up to his bedroom — the room in which alone 
the machine became the man — he was 
thinking, as usual, of Gordon. 

44 Such power, such fire, such insight, such 
resource ! My own son, too — and worth all 
the weaklings put together. Oh, that he 
could be here now — now, when every hand 
seems to be raised against his father ! But 




where is he? What is he doing? Only God 
can say." 

After that the Consul-General thought of 
Ishmael, and then the bitterness of his soul 
almost banished sleep. He had known from 
the first that the man could not be working 
alone; he had known, too, that some of 
England's allies were her secret enemies ; but 
a combination of Eastern mummery with 
Western treachery was more than he had 
bargained upon. 

" No matter ! I'll master both of them," 
he thought. 

A great historical tragedy should be played 
before the startled audience of disunited 
Europe, whose international jealousies were 
conspiring with religious quackeries to make 
the government of Egypt impossible, and 
when the curtain fell on that drama England 
would be triumphant, he would himself be 
vindicated, and the "fossils of Whitehall" 
would be ashamed. 

Last of all, he thought of his Egyptian 
Ministers and colleagues. These were the 
ingrates he had made and worked with, but 
they were no fools, and it was difficult to 
understand why they were throwing in their 
lot with a visionary mummer who was looking 
for a millennium. 

" I am at a loss to know what to think of a 
world in which such empty quackery can be 
supported by sane people," he thought. 

There was one sweeter thought left, though, 
and as the Consul-General dropped off to 
sleep he told himself that, thanks to Helena, 
he would soon have Ishmael in his hands, and 
then he would kill him as he would kill a 
dangerous and demented dog. 

During the next few days the Consul-General 
was closely occupied. The Law of Public 
Security being promulgated, he called upon 
the Minister of the Interior to order the 
Commandant of Police to issue a warrant for 
the arrest of Ishmael Ameer. 

11 But where is Ishmael Ameer ? " asked 
the Minister. 

When this was reported to the Consul- 
General his stern face smiled, and he said : — 

" Let him wait and see." 

Early one morning his Secretary came to 
his room to say that the Sirdar had arrived 
from Khartoum and had" gone on to head- 
quarters, but would give himself the pleasure 
of calling upon his lordship before long. 

"Tell him it must be soon ; there is much 
to do," said the Consul-General. 

Later the same day the Commandant of 

by LiOOgle 

Police came, with a knowing smile on his 
ruddy face, to say that the " Bedouin " had 
reached Cairo and that he had been followed 
to the Serai Fum el Khalig, the palace of 
the Chancellor of El Azhar, where he had 
already been visited by the Grand Mufti, 
some of the Ministers, certain of the Diplo- 
matic Corps, and nearly the whole of the 

" Was he alone ?" asked the Consul-General. 

"Quite alone, your lordship. And now 
he is as safely in our hands as if he were 
already under lock and key." 

" Good ! What did you say his address 
was ? " 

"Serai Fum el Khalig." 

"Palace Fum el Khalig," repeated the 
Consul-General, making a note on a marble 
tablet which stood on his desk. 

Still later, very late, the Grand Cadi 
came with the same news. The suave old 
Moslem judge was visibly excited. His pale, 
lymphatic, pock-marked cheeks, his earth- 
coloured lips, his base eyes, and his nose as 
sharp as a beak gave him more than ever the 
appearance of a fierce and sagacious bird of 
prey. After exaggerated bows he began to 
speak in the oily, half-smothered voice of one 
who lives in constant fear of being overheard. 

" Your Excellency will remember that 
when on former occasions I have had the 
inestimable privilege of approaching your 
honourable person in order to warn you that 
if you did not put down a certain Arab 
innovator the result would be death to the 
rule of England in Egypt, your Excellency 
has demanded proofs." 

" Well ? " 

" I am now in a position to provide them." 

" State the case precisely," said the Consul- 

" Your Excellency will be interested to 
hear that a person of some consequence has 
arrived in Cairo." 

Trained to self-control, the Consul-General 
conquered an impulse to say, " I know," and 
merely said, " Who is he ? " 

" He calls himself Sheikh Omar Benani, 
and is understood to be the wise and wealthy 
head of the great tribe of the Ababdah 
Bedouins, who inhabit the country that lies 
east of Assuan to the Red Sea." 


" The man who calls himself Omar Benani 
is — Ishmael Ameer!" 

At that the base- eyes flashed up with n 
look of triumph, but the Consul-General's 
face remained immovable. 


Original from 



** No doubt your Excellency is asking 
yourself why he comes in this disguise, and 
if your Excellency will deign to give me your 
attention I will tell you." 

u 1 am listening*" 

"Ishmael Ameer pretends to be a reformer 
intent upon the moral and intellectual regene 
ration of Islam, and he preaches the coming 
of a golden age in which unity, peace, and 
brotherhood are to reign throughout theearth." 


** With this ridiculous and impracticable 
propaganda he has appealed to many wild 
and ardent minds, so that a vast following of 
half-civilized people whom he has gathered 
up in the Soudan are to start soon — may have 
started already — for this city, which they 
believe to be the Mecca of the new world." 

" Well ? " 

" Ishmael Ameer pretends to have come 
to Cairo in ad- 
vance of his fol- 
lowers to prepare 
for that millen- 

11 And what 
has he really 
come for ? " 

a To establish 
a political State/ 

I>own to that 
moment the 
Consul ■ General 
had been lean 
ing back in his 
rhair in the atti- 
tude of one who 
was listening to 
something he al- 
ready knew, but 
now he sat up 

"Is this a 

" It is a fact, 
your Excellency. 
And if your Ex- 
cellency wit! once 
more deign to 
grant me your 
attention, I will 
put you in pos- 
session of a 

"Go on," said 
t h e Con s u 1- 

the suave old 

k THK man: who calls 



judge drew his legs up on his chair and 
lingered his amber beads* 

" Your Excellency will perhaps remember 
that owing to differences of opinion with the 
Khedive — may Allah bless hiin ! — you were 
compelled to require that for a while he 
should leave the country," 

" He went to Constantinople with the 
intention of laying his grievances against 
England before His Serenity the Sultan— may 
the Merciful give him long life I" 

" The Sultan is a friend of England, your 
Excellency — the Khedive was turned away." 
"And then?" 

" Then he went to Paris, as your Excel- 
lency is probably aware." 

" Perhaps your Excellency supposes that 

he occupied him- 
self with the 
frivolities of the 
gay capital of 
France — dinners, 
theatres, dances, 
races? But no! 
He had two 
enemies now- — 
England and 
Turkey, and he 
presumed to 
think he could 
punish both." 

"How? In 
what way ? " 

u By founding 
a secret society 
for the conquest 
of Syria, Pales- 
tine, and Arabia, 
and the establish- 
ment of a great 
Arab Empire with 
himself as its 
Caliph and Cairo 
as its capital*" 

"Well? What 
happened ?" 

"Need I say 
what happened, 
your Excellency? 
By means of his 
great wealth he 
was able to send 
out hundreds ol 
[>aid emissaries 
to every part of 
the Arabic world, 


Original from 



and Ishmael Ameer was the firsi of 

The Consul-General was at length startled 
out of all his composure. 

" Can you prove this ? " he said. 

" Your Excellency, if I say anything I can 
always prove it." 

The Consul-General's brow grew more and 
more severe. 

" And his name — his assumed name — what 
did you say it was ? " 

"Sheikh Omar Benani." 

" Sheikh Omar Benani," repeated the 
Consul-General, making another note on his 
marble tablet. 

"That is enough for the present," he said. 
"I have something to do to-night. I must 
ask your Eminence to excuse me." 

After the Grand Cadi had gone — with 
many sweeping salaams, various oily com- 
pliments, and that cruel gleam in his base 
eyes which proceeds only from base souls — 
the Consul-General rang sharply for his 

" We have not yet made out our invita- 
tions for the King's Dinner; let us do so 
now," he said. 

He threw a sheet of paper across the table 
to his Secretary, who prepared to make notes. 

"First, the Diplomatic Corps— every one 
of them." 

"Yes, my lord." 

"Next, our Egyptian Ministers and the 
leading members of the Legislative Council." 

11 Yes, my lord." 

" Next, the more prominent pashas and 


" Of course, our own people as usual ; and 
finally ..." 


" Finally, the Ulema of El Azhar." 

The Secretary looked up in astonishment. 

" Oh, I know," said the Consul-General. 
"They have never been invited before, but 
this is a special occasion." 

"Quite so, my lord." 

The Consul-General fixed his eyeglass and 
took up his marble tablet. 

" In writing to the Chancellor of El Azhar 
at the Palace Fum el Khalig," he said, 
" enclose a card for the Sheikh Omar Benani." 

"Sheikh Omar Benani." 

"Say that, hearing that one so highly 
esteemed among his own people is at present 
on a visit to Cairo, I shall be honoured by 
his company." 

"Yes, my lord." 

" That will do. Good night ! " 

Digitized by Google 

"Good night, my lord." 

It was early morning before the Consul- 
General went to bed. The Grand Cadi's 
story, being so exactly what he wanted to 
believe, had thrown him entirely off his 
guard. It appeared to illuminate everything 
that had looked dark and mysterious — the 
sudden advent of Ishmael, the growth of his 
influence, the sending out of his emissaries, 
his projected pilgrimage, and the gathering 
up of camels and horses in such enormous 
quantities as even the Government could not 
have commanded in time of war. 

It accounted for Ishmael's presence in 
Cairo, and his mission (as described by 
Helena) of drawing off the allegiance of the 
Egyptian Army. It accounted, too, for the 
treachery of the Ministers, pashas, and 
notables, who were too shrewd and too selfish 
(whatever the riff-raff of the Soudan might 
be) to risk their comfortable incomes for a 
religious chimera. 

Yes, the Khedive's money and the sub- 
stantial prospect of establishing a vast Arab 
empire, not the vague hope of a spiritual 
millennium, had been the power that worked 
these wonders. 

It vexed him to think that his old enemy 
whom he had banished had been more 
powerful in exile than at home, and it tortured 
him to reflect that Ishmael had developed, 
with the religious malady of the Mahdi, his 
political mania as well. 

But no matter ! He would be more than 
a match for all these forces, and when his 
great historical drama came to be played 
before the eyes of astonished humanity it 
would be seen that he had saved, not England 
only, but Europe, and perhaps civilization 

Thus, for three triumphant hours, the 
Consul-General saw himself as a patriot 
trampling on the enemies of his country ; but 
hardly had he left the library and begun to 
climb the stairs of his great, empty, echoing 
house, switching off the lights as he ascended 
and leaving darkness behind him, than the 
statesman sank back on the man — the broken, 
bereaved human being — and he recognised 
his motives for what they were. 

A few minutes after he had reached his 
bedroom Fatimah entered it with a jug of 
hot water and found him sitting with his 
head in his hands, looking fixedly at the 
portrait in the silver frame of the little lad in 
an Arab fez. 

"Ah! everybody loved that boy," she 
said. Whereupon the old man raised his 
head and dismissed her brusquely. 




" You ought to be in bed by this time — 
go at once," he said. 

" Dear heart, so ought your lordship," said 
the Egyptian woman. 

The Consul-General could dismiss Fatimah, 
but there was someone he could not get rid 
of — f he manly, magnificent, heart-breaking 
young figure that always lived in his mind's 
eye, with its deadly white face, its trembling 
lower lip, and its quivering voice which said : 
"General, the time may come when it will 
be even more painful to you to remember 
all this than it has' been to me to bear it." 

Where was he now ? What was he doing ? 
His son, his only son, all that was left to 
him ! 

There was only one way to lay that ghost, 
and the Consul-General did so by telling 
himself with a sort of fierce joy that wherever 
Gordon might be he must soon hear that 
Ishmael, in a pitiful and tricky disguise, had 
been discovered in Cairo, and then he would 
see for himself what an arrant schemer and 
unscrupulous charlatan was the person for 
whom he had sacrificed his life. 

With that bitter-sweet thought the lonely 
old man forced back the tears that had been 
gathering in his eyes and went to bed. 


Serai Fum el Khalig, Cairo. 

My Dearest Helena, — Here I am, you see, 
and I am not arrested, although I travelled in the 
same train with the Sirdar, met him face to face on 
the platform at Khartoum, again on the platform at 
Atbara, again on the landing-place at Shelal, and 
finally in the station at Cairo, where he was received 
on his arrival by his officers of the Egyptian Army, 
by my father's First Secretary, and by the Commandant 
of Police. 

I was asking myself what this could mean, whether 
your black boy had reached his destination and if 
your letter had been delivered, when suddenly I 
became aware that I was being observed, watched 
and followed to this house, and by that I knew that 
in this land of mystery my liberty was to be allowed to 
me a little longer for reasons I have still to fathom. 

This is the home of the Chancellor of El Azhar, 
and I have delivered Ishmael's letter announcing the 
change of plan whereby I have come into Cairo 
instead of himself, but I have pledged the good old 
man to secrecy on that subject, for the present at all 
events, giving him my confident assurance that in 
common with the best of the Ulema he is being 
wickedly deceived and made an innocent instrument 
for the destruction of his own cause. 

My dear Helena, I was right. My vague suspicions 
of that damnable intriguer, the Grand Cadi, were 
justified. Already I realize that, after fruitless efforts 
to inveigle Ishmael into schemes of anarchical 
rebellion, it was he who conceived the conspiracy 
which has taken our friend by storm, in the form of a 
passive mutiny of the Egyptian Army. The accursed 
scoundrel knows well it cannot be passive, that 
somewhere and somehow it will break into active 
resistance, but that is precisely what he desires. As I 

Digitized byOOOgle 

told you, it is the old trick of Caiaphas over again, and 
that is the lowest, meanest, dirtiest thing in history. 

Query, is he playing the same game with the 
Consul-General ? I am sure he is, and when I think 
that England and my father may be in as much 
danger as Egypt and Ishmael from the man's devilish 
machinations, I am more than ever certain that 
Providence had a purpose in bringing me to Cairo, 
and I feel reconciled to the necessity of living here in 
this threefold disguise, being one thing to Ishmael, 
another to the Grand Cadi and Co. , and a third to the 
Government and police. I feel reconciled, too, or 
almost reconciled, to the necessity of leaving you 
where you are, for the present at all events, although 
it rips me like a sword-cut as often as I think of it. 

I have sent for Hafiz, and expect to hear through 
him what is happening at the Agency, but I am 
hoping he will not come until morning, for to-night I 
can think of nothing but ourselves. When I left you 
at Khartoum I felt that higher powers were con- 
straining and controlling me, and that I was only 
yielding at last to an overwhelming sense of fatality. 
I thought I had made every possible effort, had 
exhausted every means, and had nothing to reproach 
myself with, but hardly had I got away into the desert 
when a hand seemed to grasp me at the back of my 
neck and to say, " Why aid you leave her behind ? " 

In Ishmael's house and in that atmosphere of deli- 
rious ecstasy in the moscjue it was easy to think it 
necessary for you to remain, or my purpose in going 
away must from the first be frustrated ; but awakening 
in the morning in my native compartment, with men 
and boys lying about on sacks, the sandy daylight 
filtering through the closed shutters of the carriage 
and the train full of the fetid atmosphere of exhausted 
sleep, I could not help but protest to myself that at 
any cost whatever I should have found a way to 
bring you with me. 

Thank God, if I have left you behind in that trying 
and false position, it is with no Caliph, no corrupt 
and concupiscent fanatic, but a man of the finest and 
purest instincts, who is too much occupied with his 
spiritual mission, praise the Lord, to think of the 
beautiful woman by his side, so I tell myself it was 
the will of Providence, and there is nothing to do now 
but to leave ourselves in the hands of fate. 

Good night, dearest ! D.V., I'll write again 


Have just seen Hafiz. The dear old fellow came 
racing up here at six o'clock this morning, with his 
big, round face, like the aurora borealis, shining in 
smiles and tears. Heavens, how he laughed and 
cried and swore and sweated ! 

He thought his letter al>out my mother's death had 
brought me back, and when I gave him a hint of 
my real errand he nearly dropped with terror. It 
seems that among my old colleagues in Cairo my 
reputation is now of the lowest, being that of a 
person who was bribed — God knows by whom — to 
do what I did. As a consequence it will go ill with 
ine, according to Hafiz, if I should be discovered : 
but, as that is pretty certain to happen in any case, I 
am not too much troubled, and find more interest 
in the fact that your boy, Mosie, is staying at the 
Agency, and that consequently my father must have 
received your letter. 

My dear Helena, my " mystic sense" has been 
right again. The Grand Cadi continues to pay secret 
visits to the Consul-General. That much Hafiz could 
say out of his intercourse with his mother, and it 
is sufficient to tell me that, by keeping a running 
sore open with my father, the scoundrel counts on 




destroying not only Ishmael but England, by leading 
her to such resistance as will result in bloodshed and 
ihus dishonour her in the eyes of the civilized world 
and leave Egypt a cockpit in which half the foreign 
Powers will fight for themselves, no matter who may 

What should I do ? God knows ! I have an 
almost unconquerable impulse to go straight to my 
father and open his eyes to what is going on. He is 
enveloped by intrigues and surrounded by enemies in 
high places — his Egyptian Ministers, the creatures of 
his own creation ; some of the foreign diplomats, the 
European leeches who suck his blood while they pre- 
tend to be his friends ; and above all this rascally Cadi, 
with his sleek face and double-sword game. 

But what can I say ? What positive fact can I yet 
point to? Will my father believe me if I tell him 
that Ishmael's following which is coming up to Cairo 
is not, as he thinks, an armed force ? That the Grand 
Cadi and company are a pack of lying intriguers, each 
one playing for his own hand ? 

My dear Helena, where are you now, I wonder ? 
What is happening to you ? What occurred after I 
left Khartoum ? These are the questions which, 
during half the day and nearly the whole of the night, 
are hammering, hammering, hammering on my brain. 
Ishmael was to follow me in a few days, so I suppose 
you are on the desert by this time. 

It gives one a strange sensation, and is almost like 
seeing things from another state of existence, to be 
here in Cairo walking about unrecognised amid the 
familiar sights and hearing the gun fired from the 
Citadel every day ; but the sharpest twinge comes of 
the hacking thought of where you are and what cir- 
cumstances surround you. In fact, memory is always 
playing some devilish trick with me and raking up 
thoughts of the condition in which I found you in 

Helena, my dear Helena, I have an immense faith 
in your strength and your courage. You are mine, 
mine, mine — rememl)er that! / do— I have to— all 
the time. That is what sets me at ease in my dark 
hours and gives sleep, as the Arabs say, to my 
eyelids. For the rest, we must resign ourselves and 
continue to wait for the direction of fate. The fact 
that I was not arrested in the character of Ishmael 
immediately on my arrival in Cairo makes me 
think Hafiz may be right — that D.V., one way or 
another, God knows how, everything is working out 
for the best. So keep up heart, my poor old girl, 
and God bless you ! Gordon. 

P.S. — Til hold this letter back until I think you 
must be nearing Assuan, and then send it (D.V.) by 
safe hands to be delivered to you there. 

P.P.S. — I open my envelope to tell you of a new 
development ! I am invited with the Chancellor of 
El Azhar to the Consul-General's dinner in honour of 
the King's Birthday. This in the character of Sheikh 
Omar Benani, who is, it seems, the chief of the tribe 
of the Ababdah, inhabiting the wild country between 
Assuan and the Red Sea. 

What does it mean? One thing certainly— that, 
acting on the information contained in your letter, 
the authorities are mistaking me for Ishmael Ameer, 
and proposing some scheme to capture me. But 
why don t they take me without further ado? 

Meantime, I am asking myself where the real 
Ishmael is and what he is doing now. Is the l>elief 
in his " divine" guidance increasing? Is he acquiring 
the influence of a Mahdi ? If so, God help him ! 

But sit tight, my girl. Something good is going 
to happen to us. I feel it, I know it. All my love 
to you, Helena. Maa-es-salaams ! 

by L^OOgle 


My Dear, Dear Gordon.— Gone ! You are 
actually gone ! I can hardly believe it. It must be 
like this to awaken from chloroform after losing one's 
right hand, only it must be something out of my heart 
in this instance, for though I have not shed a tear 
since you went away, and do not intend to shed one, 
I have a wild sense of weeping in the desolate 
chambers of my soul. 

Writing to you? Certainly I am. Gordon, do 
you know what you have done for me ? You have 
given me faith in your " mystic senses," and by virtue 
of certain of my own I am now sure that you are not 
dead, and that you are not going to die, so I am 
writing to you out of the chaos that envelops me, 
having no one here to speak to, literally no one, and 
being at present indifferent to the mystery of what is 
to become of my letter. 

It seems I fainted in the mosque after that wild 
riot of barbaric sounds, and did not come back to full 
consciousness until next morning, and then I found 
the Arab woman and the child attending on me in 
my room. Naturally I thought I might have been 
delirious, and I was in terror lest I had betrayed my- 
self, so I asked what I had been saying in my sleep, 
whereupon Zenoab protested that I had said nothing 
at all, but Ayesha, the sweet little darling, said I had 
been calling upon the great White Pasha (meaning 
General Gordon), whose picture (his statue) was by 
the Palace gates. What an escape ! 

Of course, my first impulse was to run away, but at 
the next moment I saw that to do so would be to 
defeat your own scheme in going, and that, as surely 
as it had been your duty to go into Cairo, it was mine 
to remain in Khartoum. But, all the same, I felt 
myself to be a captive — as surely a captive as 
any white woman who was ever held in the 
Mahdi's camp — and it did not sweeten my captivity 
to remember that I had first become a prisoner of my 
own free will. 

If I am a captive I am under no cruel tyrant, 
though, and Ishmael's kindness is killing me. I was 
certainly wrong about him in Cairo, and his character 
is precisely the reverse of what I expected. 

The time has come for the people to start on their 
pilgrimage, but Ishmael insists upon postponing the 
journey until I am quite recovered. Meantime 
Zenoab is trying to make mischief, and to-day, when 
the door of my room was ajar, I heard her hinting to 
Ishmael that the White Lady was not really ill, but 
only pretending to be — a bit of treachery for which 
she got no thanks, being as sharply reproved as she 
was on the morning of your mother's letter. 

That woman makes a wild cat of me. I can't help 
it — I hate her ! Of course, I see through her, too. 
She is in love with Ishmael, and though I ought to 
pity her pangs of jealousy there are moments when I 
want to curse her religion, and the dawn of the day of 
her birth, and her mother and her grandmother. 

There ! You see I have caught the contagion of 
the country ; but I am really a little weak and out of 
heart to-night, dear, so perhaps I had better say 
good night. Good night, my dearest ! 
Oh, dear ! Oh, dear ! I could not bear to play 
the hypocrite any longer, so I got up to-day and told 
Ishmael I was well, and therefore he must not keep 
back his pilgrimage any longer. Such joy ! Such 
rejoicing ! It would break my heart if I had any 
here, but, having sent all I possess to Cairo, I could 
do nothing but sit in the guest-room and look on at 
the last of the people's preparations for the desert 




journey — tents and beds being packed, and camels 
and horses and donkeys brought in to a continuous 
din of braying and grunting and neighing. 

We are to start away to-morrow morning, and this 
afternoon, when that fact was announced to me, I was 
so terrified by the idea of being dragged over the 
desert like a slave that I asked Ishmael to leave me 
behind. His face fell, but — would you believe it ? — 
he agreed, saying I was not strong enough to travel 
and Zenoab should stay to nurse me. At that I speedily 
repented of my request and asked him to allow me to 
go, whereupon his face lightened like a child**, and 
with joy he agreed again, saying the Arab woman 
should go to take care of me, for Ayesha was a big girl 
now and needed a nurse no longer. This was jumping 
out of the frying-pan into the hre, and I protested that 
I was quite able to look after myself, but, out of his 
anxiety for my health, Ishmael would not be gainsaid 
and the Arab woman said, " I'll watch over you like 
my eyes my sister." I am sure she will, the vixen ! 


We have left Khartoum and are now on the desert. 
The day had not yet dawned when we were awakened by 
a tattoo of pipes and native drums— surely the weirdest 
sound in tne darkness that ever fell on mortal ear, 
creeping into the pores and getting under the very skin. 
Then came a din, a roar, a clamour — the grunting and 
gurgling and braying of five thousand animals and as 
much shouting and bellowing of human tongues as 
went to the building of the tower of Babel. 

The sun was rising and there was a golden belt of 
cloud in the eastern sky by the time we were ready to 
go. They had brought a litter on a dromedary for 
me, and I was almost the last to start. Jt was hard to 
part from the child, for though her sweet innocence 
bad given me many a stab, and I felt sometimes as if 
she had been created to torture me, I had grown to 
love her, and I think she l^ved me. She stood as we 
rode away with a big tear ready to drop on to her 
golden cheek, and looked after me with her gazelle- 
like eyes. Sweet little Ayesha, creature of the air and 
the desert, I shall see her no more ! 

Crossing the Mahdi's open-air mosque at Omdur- 
man, where we said morning prayers, we set our 
feces northward over the wild halfa grass and clumps 
of mimosa scrub, and as soon as we were out in the 
open desert with its vast sky I saw how gigantic was 
our caravan. The great mass of men and animals 
seemed to stretch for miles across the yellow sand. 

We camped at sunset in the Wadi Bishara, the 
signal for the bivouac being the blowing of a great 
elephant's horn, which had a thrilling effect in that 
lonesome place. But more thrilling still was the 
effect of evening prayers, which began as soon as the 
camels and horses and donkeys had been unsaddled, 
and their gruntings and brayings and gurglings, as 
well as the various noises of humanity, had ceased. 

The afterglow was flaming along the flat sand, 
giving its yellow the look of bronze, when all knelt 
with their faces to the East— Ishmael in front, with 
sixty or seventy rows of men behind him. It was 
really very moving and stately to see, and made me 
understand what was meant by somebody who said 
he could never look upon Mohammedans at prayers, 
and think of the millions of hearts which at the same 
hour were sending their great chorus of praise to 
God, without wishing to be a Moslem. I did not 
wish to l>e that, but, with the odious Arab woman 
always watching me, I found myself fingering my 
rosary and pretending to be a good Muslemeh, though 
in reality I was repeating the Lord's Prayer. 

I must now try to sleep, so good night, dearest, and 
God bless you ! I don't know what is to be the end 


of all this, or where I am to dispatch my letter, or 
when you are to receive it, but I am sure you are 
alive and listening to me — and what should I do if I 
could not talk to you ? 



Soudan Desert (somewhere). 

It is ten days, my dear Gordon, since I wrote my 
last letter, and there has never been an hour between 
when I dare pretend to this abomination of Egypt 
(she is now snoring on the angerib by my side, sweet- 
heart) that I must while away an hour by writing in 
my " Journal." 

Such a time ! Boil and bubble, toil and trouble ! 
Every morning before daybreak the wild peal of the 
elephant's horn, then the whole camp at prayers with 
the rising sun in our faces, then the striking of tents 
and the ruckling, roaring, gurgling, and grunting of 
camels, which resembles nothing so much as a styful 
of pigs in extremis ; then twelve hours of trudging 
through a forlorn and lifeless solitude with only a rest 
for the midday meal ; then the elephant's horn again 
and evening prayers, with the savage sun behind us, 
and then settling down to sleep in some blank and 
soundless wilderness— such is our daily story. 

My goodness, Ishmael is a wonderful person ! But 
all the same, the "divine" atmosphere that is 
gathering about him is positively frightening. I 
suspect Black Zogal of being the author and "only 
begetter" of a good deal of this idolatry. He gallops 
on a horse in front of us, crying, "There is no god 
but God ! " and " The Messenger of God is coming ! " 
with the result that crowds of people are waiting for 
Ishmael at every village, all eager to entertain him, 
to open their secret granaries to feed his followers, or 
at least to kiss the hem of his caftan. 

Every day our numbers increase, and we go off 
from the greater towns to the beating of copper war- 
drums, the blowing of antelope horns, and sometimes 
to the cracking of rifles. It is all very crude in its 
half-savage magnificence, but it is almost terrifying, 
too, and the sight of this emotional creature, so 
liable to spasms of religious ecstasy, riding on his 
milk-white camel through these fiercely fanatical 
people like a God, makes one tremble to think of the 
time that will surely come when they find out, and he 
finds out, that after all he is nothing but a man. 

What sights ! what scenes ! The other day there 
was a fearful sandstorm, in which a fierce cloud came 
sweeping out of the horizon, big with flame and wrath, 
and it fell on us like a mountain of hell. As long as 
it lasted the people lay flat on the sand, or croi.ched 
under their kneeling camels, and when it was over 
they rose in the dead blankness with the red sand on 
their faces and sent up, as with one voice, a cry of 
lamentation and despair. But Ishmael only smiled 
and said, " Let us thank God for this day, O my 
brothers," and when the people asked him why, he 
answered, " Because we can never know anything so 
bad again." 

That simple word set every face shining, and as 
soon as we reached the next village — Black Zogal, as 
usual, having gone before us — lo, we heard a story of 
how Ishmael had commanded a sand-storm to pass 
over our heads without touching us — and it had ! 

Another day we had stifling heat, in which the 
glare of the sand made our eyes to ache and the air 
to burn like the breath of a furnace. The water in 
the water-bottles became so hot that we dare not 
pour it on to the back of our hands, and even some 
of the camels dropped dead under the blazing heat. 

And when ?l length the sun sank beneath the 




horizon and left us in the cool dark night, the people 
could not sleep for want of water to bathe their 
swelling eyelids and to moisten their cracking throats, 
but Ishmael walked through their tents and comforted 
them, telling them it was never intended that man 
should always live well and comfortably, yet God, if 
He willed it, would bring them safely to their 
journey's end. 

After that the people lay down on the scorching 
sand as if their thirst had suddenly been quenched, 
and next day, on coming to the first village, we heard 
that, in the middle of a valley of black and blistered 
hills, Ishmael smote with his staff a metallic rock 
that was twisled into the semblance of a knotted 
snake, and a well of ice-cold water sprang out of it, 
and everybody drank of it and then " shook his fist 
at the sun." 

Good night, my dear dear ! Oh, to think that 
all this wilderness divides us ! But mcialeysh ! In 
another hour I shall be asleep and then — then I shall 
be in your arms. 


Oh, my ! Oh, my ! Two incidents have happened 
to-day, dearest, that can hardly fail of great results. 
Early in the morning we came upon the new convict 
settlement — a rough - bast ioned place built of sun-dried 
bricks in the middle of the Soudan desert. It 
contains the hundred and fifty notables who were 
imprisoned by the special tribunal for assaults on 
the Army of Occupation when they were defending 
the house of your friend the Grand Cadi. How 
Ishmael discovered this I do not know, but what 
he did was like another manifestation of the 
" mystic sense." 

Stopping the caravan with an unexpected blast of 
the elephant's horn, he caused ten rows of men to l>e 
ranged around the prison, and after silence had been 
proclaimed he called on them to say the first Surah : 
" Praise be to God, the Lord of all creatures." 

It had a weird effect in that lonesome place, as of a 
great monotonous wave breaking on a bar far out at 
sea, but what followed was still more eerie. After a 
breathless moment, in which everybody seemed to 
listen and hold his breath, there came the deadened 
and muffled sound of the same words repeated by the 
prisoners within the walls : '* Praise be to God, the 
Lord of all creatures." 

When this was over Ishmael cried, " Peace, 
brothers ! Patience ! The day of your deliverance 
is near ! The Redeemer is coming ! All your wrongs 
will be righted, all your bruises will be healed ! Peace ! " 

And then there came from within the prison walls 
the muffled answer, '* Peace ! " 

The second of the incidents occurred about midday, 
when, crossing a lifeless waste of gloomy volcanic 
sand, we came upon a desert graveyard, with those 
rounded hillocks of clay which make one think that 
the dead beneath must be struggling in their sleep. 

At a word from Ishmael all the men of our com- 
pany who belonged to that country stepped out from 
the caravan, and, riding round and round the ceme- 
tery, shouted the names of their kindred who were 
buried there : 4< All !" " Abdul ! " " Mohammed ! " 
"Mahmud !" "Said ! *' 

After that Ishmael himself rode forward, and, 
addressing the dead as if they could hear, he cried : 
41 Peace to you, O people of the graves ! Wait ! 
Lie still \ The night is passing ! The daylight dawns ! " 

It was thrilling ! Strange, simple, primitive, crude 
in its faith, perhaps, but such love and reverence for 
the dead contrasted only too painfully with the 
vandalism of our "Christian' vultures (yclept 
Egyptologists), who rifle the graves of the old Egyp- 

Digilized by l^iOOfflC 

tians for their jewels and mummy beads, and then 
leave their bones in tons to bleach on the bare sand. 

But, my dear Gordon, I quite expect to find at the 

next stopping-place a story of how Ishmael recited the 

Fatihah and the walls of a prison fell down before 

him, and how he spoke to the dead and they replied. 


It has happened ! I knew it would ! I have seen 
it coming and it has come — without any help from 
Black Zogal's crazy imagination either. There was 
only one thing wanted to complete the faith of these 
people in Ishmael's " divinity, ' a miracle, and it has 
been performed ! 

I suppose it really belongs to the order of things 
that happen according to natural law— magnetism, 
suggestion, God knows what — but my pen positively 
jibs at recording it, so surely will it seem as if I had 
copied it out of a Book I need not name. 

This afternoon our vast human tortoise was trudging 
along, and a halt was being called to enable stragglers 
to come up, when a funeral procession crossed our 
track on its way to a graveyard on the hillside opposite. 

The sheikh of a neighbouring village had lost his 
only child, a girl twelve years of age, and behind the 
blind men chanting the Koran, the hired mourners 
with their plaintive wail, and the body on a hare 
board, the old father walked in his trouble, rending 
his garments and tearing off his turban. 

It was a pitiful sight, and when the mourners came 
up to Ishmael and told him the sheikh was a God- 
fearing man who had not deserved this sorrow I 
could see that he was deeply moved, for he called on 
the procession to stop, and, making his camel kneel, 
he got down and triecLto comfort the old man, 
saying* " M a y the name of God be upon thee ! " 

Then, thinking, as it seemed to me, to show 
sympathy with the poor father, he stepped up to the 
bier and took the little brown hand which, with its 
silver ring and bracelet, hung over the board, and 
held it for a few moments while he asked when the 
child had died and what she had died of, and he was 
told she had died this morning and the sun had 
killed her. 

All at once I saw Ishmael's hand tremble and a 
strange contraction pass over his face, and at the 
next moment, in a quivering voice, he called on the 
bearers to put down the bier. They did so, and at 
his bidding they uncovered the body, and I saw the 
face. It was the face of the dead ! Yes, the dead, 
as lifeless and as beautiful as a face of bronze. 

At the next instant Ishmael was on his knees 
beside the body of the girl, and asking the father for 
her name. It was Helimah. 

" Helimah ! Your father is waiting for you ! 
Come ! " said Ishmael, touching the child's eyes and 
smoothing her forehead, and speaking in a soft, 
caressing voice. 

Gordon, as I am a truthful woman I saw it happen. 
A slight fluttering of the eyelids, a faint heaving of 
the bosom, and then the eyes were open, and at the 
next moment the girl was standing on her feet ! 

God, what a scene it was that followed ! The 
sheikh on his knees, kissing the hem of Ishmael's 
caftan, the men prostrating themselves l>efore him, 
and the women tearing away the black veils that 
covered their faces and crying, " Blessed be the woman 
that bore you ! " 

It has been what the Arabs call a red day, and at 
that moment the setting sun catching the clouds of 
dust raised by the camels made the whole world one 
brilliant fiery red. What wonder if these poor, 
benighted people thought the Lord of Heaven himself 
had just come dow^gj 



zi 7 

ii i-.i.j SjA ii : nn . K iAllli,i\ 

\Vc 3 eft the village loaded with blessings (Black 
Zogal galloping frantically in front), and when we 
came to ibe next town — Berber* with Us miles of roof- 
less mud- huts, telling of dervish destruction — crowds 
came out to salute Ishmael as the " Guided One," 
11 the true \laluii, aS and the '* Deliverer/' bringing 
their sick and lame and blind for him to heal them 
and praying of him to remain. 

Oh h my dear Gordon, it is terrifying \ Ishmael is 
no longer the messenger* the forerunner ; he is now 
the Redeemer he foretold. I believe really he is 
beginning to believe it ! This is the pillar of fire that 
is henceforth to guide us on our way. Already 

COME 1 " 

our numbers are 
three times what 
they were when we 
left Khartoum. What 
is to happen when 
thirty thousand per- 
son s ? following a 
Jeatlt-r ihey belit*\e to 
l>e divine, arnve in 
Cairo and are con- 
fronted by five thou- 
sand British soldiers? 

No \ It is not 
bhwxlshed I am afraid 
of — I know you will 
prevent that. Hut 
what of the aw fa] un- 
deceiving, the utter 
degradation, the 
crushing collapse ? 

And l?LWt think 
me a coward, Gordon 
—it isn't everybody 
who was born brave 
like you — hut when 
I think of what I have 
dune to I his man* and 
bow surety it will l»e 
found out that I have 
betrayed you, I tell 
myself that the 
moment I touch the 
skirts of civilization 
I must run away. 

But meantime our 
pilgrimage is moving 
on— to its death, as 
it seems to me— and 
I am moving on 
With it as a slave — 
the slave of my own 
actions. If this is 
Destiny it is wickedly 
cruel, 1 will say that 
for it, and if it is God 
I think lie might be 
a jealous God with- 
out making the 
blundering impulse 
of one poor girl the 
means of wrecking 
the hopes of a whole 
race of helpless 
people. Of course, 
it acts as a sop to 
my con science to 
remember what you 
said about God 
cannot help wishing 
He could have left 

never making mistakes, but I 
that in His inscrutable wisdom 
me out. 

Oh, my dear dear ! Where are you now, I wonder ? 
What arc yrm doing? What is heing done to you? 
Have you seen your father, the Princess, and the 
Grand Cadi ? I suppose I must not expect news until 
we reach Assuan. Von promised to write to mc, and 
you will — I know you will. Good night, dearest ! 
My love, my love, my only love ! But I must stop. 
We are t<i msike a night journey- The camp is in 
movement and my camel is waiting. Adieu ! 


Vol. xx*viii. — 2$ 

by GOO <» * """""ilvEraTYOF M^HIGAN 

A NEW ILLUSION. WW is tfs Scientific Explanation? 


Deputy Medical Superintendent ^ Cent rut London Suk Asylum. 

IN the March number 
1 of T H £ St r axd M aga- 

zine there 
among the 

M Curiosj^ 
ties " a block (which will 
be found reproduced, 
marked Fig, 6, on the 
following page) repre 
seating the word " Life/' 
wherein the letters ap 
pear to he tilted at differ- 
ent angles to the per 
pendicular, instead of 
being, as they really are, 
absolutely upright. The 
publication of this illu- 
sory figure, which along 
with others of the same 
character were first de- 
scribed by nie in a paper 
in the British Journal 
o/Ps) vhology for J anuary, 
1908, led to a request 
from the Editor of The 
Strand Magazjnk that 
I should write a short 
article on such illusions, 
and the following pages 
are the result. 

In almost all pre- 
viously- published illu- 
sions of direction the 
lines or bands employed 
are uninterrupted and 
uniform in character 
throughout their length, 
but in the illusion of 
direction now to be | 
described each band 
is made up of visibly 
separate similar parts, 
all inclined at the same 
small angle to the line 
of direction of the 
series to which they 
belong. Such con- 
stituent parts may be 
conveniently termed 
unitsofdirection. This 
arrangement will be 
quite clearly under- 
stood by a glance at 



I , 
1. i, 
j, 1, 


r — - — — - — -1 m ^ 1-* ^ 



Fia 1. 

■ ** * * ** — i 1 

f i ■ m M" J 




/ \ 




"J* J 


FIG. 2. 

n n o 






no. 3. 

FIG. 4. 

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.♦^♦^♦^♦^♦^* ♦ ♦ •*♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ 
► ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ 

♦.♦.♦ ♦ .♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦ ♦ ♦ 

K+*+j*+^ ♦♦♦•♦♦♦♦♦ 

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦ 


FIG. 5. 

The word "life," rrpmduc«d htrr ,-ind on ihc folWinp jagt 
in Jeuets of different forms, sWvs the illu'iun increasing in 

amD iimby.uucc^iv, B i^ s f^iiu6. Original fl«mpUce a piece of 

Fig. i, where the small 
lines or units give the 
letters the appearance of 
having a ^ig^ig outline. 
In this case the illusion 
of tilted letters is absent, 
but appears when the 
figure is magnified. Let 
us now separate the 
units from each other by 
taking away each alter- 
nate one, as in Fig. 2, 
The illusion at once ap- 
pears. It increases in 
Fig- 3, where the lines 
are overlapped at their 
extremities. In Fig, 4 a 
small triangle is added 
at the end of each of 
these units, when the 
illusion increases some- 
what. In Fig, 5 the 
small square which is 
formed by each pair of 
these triangles has been 
multiplied so as to form 
a background of black 
chequers, In Fig. 6 grey 
squares are added to this 
background in such a 
way as to produce a 
plaid or tartan pattern. 
This latter form of back- 
ground produces the 
maximum amount of 
illusion. In Figs. 6 and 
7,the small composing 
lines, or units, are, 
it will be observed, 
alternately white and 

Before passing on 
to a consideration of 
the circular figures, it 
may be worth while 
to describe a method 
hy which the sceptic 
may easily satisfy h i ni- 
sei f as to the correct- 
ness of what has 
just been staled. Let 



tracing paper over Fig, i and trace in fairly 
thick straight strokes the outlines of the four 
letters. He will then have the word " Life J 
drawn in letters the uprightness of which is 
beyond doubt. If he now places this tracing 

fig, 7, 

Giving a smallef amount of the illusion than Fig, 6, represents 
the t«rbtcd cord on a pbin grey background 

oyer each of the remaining six examples, he 
will find that every letter stands perfectly 

For the sake of clearness it will be found 

FIG. S. 

FIG. 10, 

"ie rirnr* in Ft- 9 are pern . t drde^ ™ m Fi tf . 9 , ihouph by hrtng ph«<! on she i_hequered bLickgfound they 




In l he ahov^ figure the illusion ihat a bUck and white cord is 

ptocud in the form of a spiral is so situtig that it is atmust 

impossible to believe ihru the figure is made up of separate 


convenient, where the lines consist of alter- 
nate black and white sections or units, to 
regard each complete line as representing a 
cord consisting of two strands, black and 
white, twisted together. This arrangement 
will be referred to as the twisted cord. 
Figs + 6 and S, and Figs, n to 16, may be 
considered as made up of pieces of such 
twisted cord laid upon a chequered back- 
ground. In Fig. 7 the pieces of twisted 
cord are laid upon a plain uniform back- 
ground of grey. 

FIG. 12. 

The illusion in Fig, ia is similar la that in Fig. n i though the 
placing of the circles in pairs jjives l hem somewhat the effect of 

I jet us now take a background made 
up of chequers diminishing in size as they 
approach the centre, as is shown in Fig, 8, 
Upon this background let us lay in perfect 
circles pieces of our twisted cord from 
without inwards, so that we have a series 
of concentric circles, These cords must, 
of course, diminish in thickness in the 
same proportion as the chequers diminish 
in size. The illusion gives these circles 
the form drawn in Fig, j o. 

It will be observed that the chequers are 
so divided by the strands of cord which 
pass across them as to form triangles at the 
ends of each section of the strand, whether 
black or white, after the manner repre- 
sented in Fig, 4* 

The exact form of the illusion which 

the spiral curve sren on many forms of slidl-fi*! 


FIG + I J. 

Here again the cords arc placed in perfect circle*, though 
appearing to pursue must fantastic curves. 

will be obtained by placing our twisted 
cord on the chequered background will 
vary according to the direction in which 
the black and white portions or units cut 
across the chequers, In Fig. i i the eye is 
deluded into the belief, which it is almost 
impossible to refute without experiment, that 
it is looking upon one or more cords laid in 
spiral form, Vet we have here, as before, 
only perfect circles of cords placed one inside 
the other. The reader may test this for 
himself in a moment with a pair of com- 
passes, or, still more simply, by laying the 
point of a pencil on any portion of the cord 
and following it round, when, instead of 
approaching or receding from the centre in 
a continuous line, as he would do in the case 
of a spiral, he will nnd the pencil simply 




Fit;* 14, pig. 15, 

Both llirx; distort eel figures are pure illusions as in each case Hie cords are placed lit perfect circles on the chequered bnckfiroutid. 

jeturning to the point from which it started. 
Fig, 12, where pairs of curves appear to 
follow opposing directions, bears a strong 
likeness to the spiral curve seen on the shells 
of snails and many kinds of shell fish. In Fig. 
13 the four pairs of curves run also apparently 
in opposing directions, and are of indefinite 
unnamable form, In Fig, 14 the circles are 
"squared." In Fig. 15 the circles present a 
confusing tangle. In Fig, 16 straight pieces 
of cord stretching across a chequered back 
ground appear to he bent in a marked degree, 

Certain points of interest may be noted 
in connection with the illusion: — 

(i) In examining the 
figures which have a 
chequer- work background 
of black, white, and grey, 
the illusion will be found to 
change in character as the 
result of changes in the size 
or distance of the figure. 
On the whole, the amount 
of the illusion increases as 
the figure is magnified or 
viewed nearer. As the figure 
is diminished in size, or 
viewed farther off, the letters 
or curves tend to break up 
into their constituent frag- 
ments or units (producing 
a streaky overlapping ap- 
pearance), but so long :.s 
the letters or curves are dis- 
tinctly recognizable as such 
on their background the 
illusion is still present, 
These facts can be appre- 

fig. 1 6 

The I en pieces of c&td shown above are 

stretched tn parallel lines,, though ifrcy a^iu;?r 

to be \xv\\ in a marked dec re*. 


dated also by examining the curves of the 
circular figures from the circumference towards 
the centre, or vice versa. The smaller the 
size of the parts, it will be found, the more 
the curves tend to break up into their con- 
stituent units. In these respects the illusion 
differs from other optical illusions. 

(2) In Figs. 2 to 7 and in Fig, 16 the 
illusion tends to be increased by regarding 
the figure from the side or by putting the 
figure into an oblique position by turning 
the page through one-eighth of a circle in 
the plane of the paper, In this respect the 
illusion resembles some other optical illusions. 
(3) On fixing the vision 
steadily for some little time 
on any point in any of the 
figures the illusion does not 
tend to diminish or dis- 
appear, as is the case with 
some optical illusions. 

Such, briefly, is the nature 
of the pheuuiiii non which 
I have ventured to name 
"The Unit of Direction 
Illusion," It is shown in 
its simplest naked form in 
Fig. 2. No explanation of 
the why and wherefore or 
such strange results from 
such simple arrangements 
of black and white or of 
black, white, and grey has 
as yet been offered. Is it pos- 
sible that the ingenuity of 
the readers of The Strand 
Magazine may evolve a 
f.jtp explain them ? 



assistant engineer, gazed out 
through the windows of the 
engine-room into the spacious 
yard of the Cyclops Steel 
Works. In his hand he held 
a torn envelope. Before him, like a taper- 
ing tower, rose the huge brick smoke-stack, 
thrusting its grey, rolling billows into the 
heavens. The chimney stood free in the 
centre of the court and communicated by an 
underground duct with the furnace - room. 
Its shadow fell directly towards Korinski 
across the sunny ground and darkened the 
window at which he stood. Masons were at 
work repairing or altering the broad base. 
Part of this had been cut away and jack- 
screws temporarily supported the immense 
superincumbent weight. 

Dmitri Korinsky was sunk in desperate 
thought. Though few suspected it, he was 
an apostle of Anarchy — from Novgorod — 
one whose work in the Brotherhood con- 
sisted more in thought than in action. His 
violent words burned like fire in many a 
publication devoted to the Cause. Some 
fatal warp or kink in his destiny had turned 
awry the currents of his human sympathies 
and caused him to embrace the wild red 
creed of Chaos. He had become a volcano 
of torrential eloquence ; his writings were 
winged with lightnings and seared like molten 
lava. He deemed it ignoble to accept pay for 
them, so he supported himself through his 
knowledge of mechanics. Although he was 
so potently the spring of action in others, yet 
he had been twitted by some of his rasher 

"All words and no deeds," they said ; "all 
mouth and no hands." 

These words had rankled and festered in 
little Korinski's heart. He resolved that 
some day he would show them that the man 
of thought was greater than the man of action 
— that he could act as well as think and write. 
Five years ago persecution had driven him to 
hospitable England, where he had obtained 
this post as assistant engineer. Faithful and 
industrious had he been in the service of the 
Cyclops Works, yet for all that he had been 
discharged ! The directors wished to reduce 
expenses, and he had been given a week's 
notice. Mallon, his chief, had been very 
friendly with him. 

" I'll see what I can do to keep you on," 
Mallon had said. 

Yet here lay the final discharge in his 
hand — cold, brief, pitiless. It was signed by 
two directors. Korinski's heart was like a 
flaming coal within him ; his blood tore like 
poison through his veins. It was the old 
story — the rich against the poor, the powerful 
against the helpless ! Against the helpless ! 
Was he so very helpless, then ? No ; his 
time for action had come. He would vindi- 
cate, nay, glorify, himself in the eyes of his 
colleagues ; they would see ! At the thought 
his small, black eyes glittered like agates, his 
swarthy cheeks flushed with darkling fire, 
and his coal-black hair seemed to bristle. 
In his under-sized, ill-shapen body he now 
felt the strength of many men. But the 
means — the means ! He scorned the com- 
mon methods of the fraternity — the brutal, 
erratic bomb, the cowardly dagger, the un- 
certain revolver, strange to his hand. His 
plans, once perfected, would display some 
originality, some stroke of his master-genius. 
He would become a Brutus in the Cause. 

A party of some seven men crossed the 
yard without. They wore frock-coats and 
silk hats. 

"The directors!" muttered Korinski. 

They passed between him and the great 
brick chimney. As they traversed its shadow 
a strange, hideous thought leaped into 
Korinski's mind. If only the chimney might 
fall and crush them ! If only, by pulling 
upon a lever or pressing upon a button, he 
might cause that lofty pillar of brick to 
topple over on these his enemies ! They 
were going to the company's offices, these 
elegant men of wealth— these gentlemen — 
who had discharged him. Gentlemen ! 
Unto whom were they gentle? Unto them- 
selves ? To their women-folk ? Surely not 
to him ! They laughed and jested. Their 
well-fed bodies, contented faces, and fine 
clothes were the very opposite extremes of 
all that fell to him. In a few days he would 
again be a weary, homeless wanderer in search 
of work. The seven men were going to the 
monthly meeting in the small building to 
the right of the engine-house. The eyes of 
the Russian followed them with a baleful 
malevolence. He clenched his hands. 

44 They fear nothing but force," he muttered 

to hims fMlvfefdFWffl^N with g °' d 



against the law as we are with fire, but force 
they fear." 

At noon Korinski wandered aimlessly 
about the sunny yard. He passed by the 
foot of the tall chimney. About half of the 
base was cut away, but the enormous weight 
of the overhang was sustained by powerful 
steel jack-screws. These were set some 
distance apart. The chimney stood like a 
tree into which the axe had cut half way. 
Steel cables lay along the ground, half buried 
beneath broken brick, earth, and mortar. 
They had been used for bracing the chimney 
before the screws were put in place. All 
this Korinski observed in a mechanical 
fashion. His mind was brooding darkly 
upon his wrongs and his revenge. 

He approached the building where the 
directors were assembled. As he passed by 
its rear, he glanced up at the windows of the 
committee-room. High above the roof he 
saw the mighty shaft of the chimney soaring 
into the air. Its shadow had moved far 
since that morning and now fell across the 
low building before him. The stack, the 
offices, and the engine-room formed the 
points of an equilateral triangle. Korinski 
seemed seized with a sudden inspiration. 
A satanic smile spread over his dark visage ; 
an evil joy shone in his eyes. He strode 
carelessly back into the yard. With deliberate 
steps he measured off the distance between 
the offices and the base of the chimney. 

" One hundred and ninety-seven feet," he 
said, in a whisper. "What is the height of 
the stack ? " he inquired casually of a mason 
eating his lunch in the shade. 

" She was two hundred and thirty feet 
when we built her five year ago," answered 
the man, " and I'm not thinking she's shrunk 
any since. She's the highest in all the 
Midlands. We that built her calls her Big 

" I call it Moloch — a monster!" Imrst forth 
the Russian passionately. " You — we are the 
slaves they fling and feed to it — we are 
the fuel— fools that " 

The man stared. Korinski checked him- 
self and resumed in a milder tone: — 

"Two hundred and thirty feet. It's a 
very high stack. The tallest I ever saw 
before was at Odessa. That was not nearly 
so high. Those screws look rather light 
—for all that weight," he added, pointing to 
the two jacks. "What if they should give 
way ? " 

"Oh, they're chilled steel," replied the 
brickmason, "and they'll carry a thousand 
ton to the square inch." 

"But if they should give way?" asked 

" Well, if this one broke, over Big Moll 
would go right on to that little building 
yonder; if that one broke, the engine-house 
over there would be smashed flatter'n sheet- 

The man spoke true. If the screw to the 
right gave way, the entire mass of the gigan- 
tic chimney would be hurled down directly 
in a line with the company's offices. On the 
other hand, the collapse of the screw on the 
left would precipitate the stack in the direc- 
tion of the engine-house. Korinski closely 
observed every detail of the construction and 
the method of support. That night he was 
to be on duty alone in the engine-room. 
That night, likewise, an extra meeting was to 
be held by the directors — no doubt to dis- 
charge other employes, or to cut down in 
their remorseless way the wretched wages 
they were paying the men. But now he 
held them in his hands ; their lives and their 
destinies were subject unto him. A sense of 
majestic power possessed him. His little 
crooked frame seemed to expand with the 
thought of his victory, his vindication, and 
his revenge. 

That afternoon Korinski was off duty. 
He climbed a neighbouring hill from which 
he could see the various buildings of the 
ironworks spread out below him. Only the 
shaft of the great stack rose somewhat higher 
than the hill. It still poured forth its dense 
volumes of smoke. They rolled away across 
the blue heavens and wove long, drifting 
shadows over the landscape. 

" It's a cloud of smoke by day, a pillar of 
fire by night," murmured the man from 
Novgorod, "to lead me on. It is the 
monument of my revenge. Who of all the 
Brotherhood will ever have struck a blow 
like this ? The dolts must learn that brains, 
and not bombs and bludgeons, count in our 
work ! " 

He shook his fist towards the pretty little 
building where the directors met. He saw the 
roof of his own comfortable engine-room and 
recalled that in a few days it would shelter 
him no more. Well, much might happen in 
a week, in a day, in an hour ! That evening 
at six he must be at his post again. Mallon, 
the chief engineer, had his night off. 

All the afternoon he sat on the grass 
covered hill, his legs doubled under his chin, 
his eyes fixed upon the buildings below. There 
he crouched like some deformed gargoyle, or 
like a vulture watching his prey from some 
mountain scarp — a demon plotting the 







ruin of men and their works. Evening 
came and then the early autumn night. He 
saw the monster furnaces open and shut 
their doors, while sudden bursts of ruddy 
splendour were flung across the open 
spaces. The doors and windows of the build- 
ings glowed at times like crimson coals, 
then sank into instant night, leaving vague 
blots floating before his eyes. The steam 
from the exhaust pipes ascended in beautiful 
snowy forms like huge while flowers blooming 
to the night. He saw the workers — whom 
he pitied — come and go, dark shapes flitting 
hither and thither. Stalwart men were they, 
yet to him with his knowledge, what, in deed t 
but feeble babes ? The great steel works 
with its muffled hum and roar and clangour 

ifted up its stirring 
hymn of incessant 
toil to the brooding 
heavens. To what 
end was all that toil? What but to 
create new monsters of iron to devour 
them — to forge new manacles of steel 
to chain them as slaves to relentless 
engines and machines? He raised 
his eyes. The tapering mass of the 
chimney stood out* a softened 
shadow, against the nightly blue* 
A large star glittered like a gem 
directly above it. 

" It is a good omen," said KorinsJd 
The dusky smoke, as it poured rapidly 
away into the farther darkness towards the 
hills, now and again blotted out the star 
But always it emerged again, pure and bril- 
liant as before. It returned to Korinski's 
eyes like the sign and symbol of a resolve 
that must not flag. Now a burst of flame 
issued from a steel flue over the buildings 
that contained the blast furnaces. Grandly 
it flickered upward like some enormous 
torch. The red brick of the smokestack 
glowed like blood in this bath of crimson 
light, like a shaft of red hot iron soaring 
into the startled night. The smoke from 

its ^te^^ftiffli&tf crimson 



orange, in exquisite contrast to the deep- 
blue firmament. The soul of the Slav was 
not insensible to the grandeur of the 
scene. For a time he seemed plunged in 
dreams, perhaps in doubt, then 

"That is my pillar of fire by night," he 
murmured. A church-bell from the adjacent 
village struck the quarter before six. 

Korinski slowly descended the hill. Once 
more he passed by the base of the stupendous 
stack. The masons had left it some time 
before ; the yard was deserted. He walked 
quickly to the opening in the base. The two 
steel jack-screws stood plainly forth. Seizing 
the heavy hook that was fixed to the end of 
one of the steel cables, he placed it about the 
neck of the screw to the right. It hung there 
loosely and insecurely. Korinski propped a 
loop of the cable -between two bricks, so as 
to support the hook in its position. The 
cable extended to within thirty feet of the 
engine-house, and its end terminated in 
another hook. The misshapen figure dis- 
appeared into the brightly -lighted engine- 
room. A few minutes later a tall man came 
forth. It was Mallon, the chief engineer, 
homeward bent. 

Korinski sat in his chair beneath an 
electric lamp, his eyes upon the gleaming 
machinery, so silent and resistless in its 
working. The ponderous fly-wheels whirled 
in their circles, the balls of the governors 
spun and danced, the great piston and con- 
necting rods reached out like mighty arms 
and then drew back along their noiseless 
guides. Close by the door stood an auxiliary 
engine with a large drum, on which was 
wound a coil of steel rope. This engine 
was at times used for dragging heavy castings 
or machinery about the yard, or for hoisting 
purposes. It was now half-past six. At seven 
little Fanny Hillers, the nine-year-old daughter 
of his landlady, would bring Korinski his 
supper. All the affection that unrequited love, 
suffering, persecution, and ingratitude had 
not driven out of the heart of the ill-favoured 
Russian refugee had gone forth in a fatherly 
tenderness to little Fanny. She was the one 
object on earth for which love still throbbed 
in his distorted soul. Such a child, he often 
thought, might once have been his — if only 
— if only she — she, Natalia — but no ! His 
love had now been consecrated to the great 
Cause — the Cause that was mother, wife, and 
daughter to him. What were women to him 
— or he to women ? Evil dreams of a dead 
past, long since entombed beneath black and 
bitter years. But his comrades were his 
brothers — they were right ! Deeds, deeds, 

Vol. xxxviiL— 29. 

deeds must be their children. To-night his 
brain should bear a child into the world — a 
child whose birth-cry should make all man- 
kind thrill, some with terror, some with joy. 
The hands of the clock crept slowly on 
towards seven. Almost on the stroke of the 
hour pretty Fanny Hillers appeared with her 

" Here is your supper, Korrie," she said. 
" I told mamma you liked those apple-tarts 
so much. See, I brought you— one — two — 
three of them ; and they are nice and warm, 
Korrie." Korrie was her childish version of 
Korinski, and when it fell from her lips the 
name seemed full of an infinite sweetness to 

" You're a dear little girl, Fanny," he said, 
with a smile; "you're a darling." 

He placed his hand on her head, stroking 
the curls that welled forth from beneath her 
bonnet. Even so, he mused, Natalia's child 
must be — Natalia, the playmate of his infancy, 
she who was married in distant Loginova 
long ago. Perhaps she was dead now, per- 
haps she had forgotten him ; but he — he had 
not forgotten ! The girl had set his supper 
on a wooden bench and stood ready to 
depart with her basket. 

" Good night, Korrie. You mustn't come 
home so late to-night." 

Her foot was on the stone step that led to 
the yard. 

" Fanny !" called Korinski. " Fanny, come 

The girl turned and approached him. He 
placed his arm about her; he lowered his 
swarthy features towards the pure, rose-leaf 
face of the little maid. His eyes looked into 
her own with a profound, compelling pathos. 
His voice shook. 

" Will Fanny give Korrie a kiss ? " 

" 'Course I will, Korrie," said Fanny, and 
kissed him impulsively on the cheek. 

"Thank you, Fanny," said the Russian. 

His eyes, dimmed with a mist, saw her 
bright face vanish through the door. 

Fanny ran lightly across the yard. She 
passed by the base of the big chimney, as she 
had done when she came. Here something 
caught her foot. She tripped and fell. There 
was a clatter and a ringing of metal. She 
scrambled to her feet and looked about her. 
She had fallen over a loop of cable that lay in 
her path. The child realized that by her fall 
she had disturbed some obvious arrangement 
of this steel rope. The hook now lying at 
her feet had been attached to one of the 
screws. With her liny hands she lifted the 





niassive thing and placed it in position. 
Then, half frightened at what she had done, 
she ran swiftly home. 

Half past tight by the engine-room clock. 
Korinski sat still and silent as a sphinx. 
The night meeting of the directors was now 
taking place. What evil were these lords of 
gold and greed now plotting and planning 
against the toilers in the deeps and the 
darkness? These tireless monsters of steel 
and steam which he controlled toiled for 
them, too + Korinski rose. Slowly he started 
the auxiliary engine. The cable began to 
unwind from the drum. Taking the end in 
his hands the Anarchist passed through the 
door into the yard. Almost instantly he 
returned and stopped the engine. From 
without he heard the voices of the directors 
on their way to the meeting. 

The seal of a deep purpose seemed stamped 
upon his face ; excitement and exultation 
sparkled in his eyes* Panting from his exer- 

tions he sat down and wiped his 

14 At nine," he whispered to 
himself — L1 a little after nine ! " 

The hands of the clock crept 
inexorably on. At ten minutes 
past the hour Korinski leaped to 
his feet, rushed to the lever of the 
engine, and pulled it deliberately 
towards him. 'The snake -like 
loops straightened and stiffened, 
and wound themselves about the 
iron reel until the slackness was 
all drawn in. 1 hen the powerful 
cable stretched, qubered, and 

A weary workman in the 
foundry, resting during a brief 
hill, was at that moment gazing 
through the windows of the cast- 
ing-room. He was looking up 
at the great smokestack and the 
star-studded sky beyond* Suddenly 
it seemed to him as if the 
sky began to rock and 
tremble. Some of the 
stars vanished behind the 
shadowy bulk of the chim- 
ney, others emerged and 
again disappeared. Then, 
in a flash, the illusion 
passed away. The chimney 
and not the sky was moving. 
Its outlines, as it swayed 
to right and left, hid or 
disclosed the stars. He saw 
it reel and dance like a 
Then the lofty, shadowy 
column plunged forward and, like some 
mighty mast in a storm, rushed downward 
into the night. The simple workman could 
not believe the evidence of his senses; he 
thought himself gone mad. He gave a loud 
yell and rushed from the window. 

"Gentlemen," said Henry Latrobe, the 
chairman of the meeting in the offices of the 
Cyclops Steel Works, "among a few minor 
details that require our attention is the dis- 
missal of one Dmitri Korinski, assistant to 
Engineer Mallon* Mallon says he needs the 
man, and has asked us to retain him. 1 
move that we agree to Mai Ion's request." 

M I second the motion," said one of the 

"Iris moved " 

There was a deafening and tremendous 
crash, a stunning and appalling uproar, like 
thunder ten times multiplied, A violent 


drunken thing- 



shock, as of an earthquake, made the build- 
ing creak and tremble. The men leaped to 
their feet, their faces full of wild alarm and 
fear. Only Henry Latrobe remained stand- 
ing in his place, calm, self-possessed, un- 

" Gentlemen, there has evidently been 
an explosion, I move that we adjourn to 
investigate." All rushed from the room, 
bareheaded, into the open air. 

The stupendous chimney, like a van- 
qui shed giant, lay prostrate on the ground, 
It was broken into many sections, that rested 
intact amidst the gloomy wreck. From the 
flue-opening m the ragged base clouds of 
black smoke poured out over the ruins like 
fumes from some volcanic crater sprung to 
sudden life. The engine-house was a mass 
of mangled wreckage, shattered walls, and 
shivered machinery. The hissing of steam 

was heard and its white clouds rolled 
slowly upward like the breath of some 
expiring animal. The body of the chimney 
had crushed through the building as if it 
had been of pasteboard. Scores of men, like 
active ants, swarmed over the wreck, 

"Who was in the engine-house?" asked 
Latrobe of a mechanic. 

** Only that Russian assistant of Mallon's, 
sir/' replied the man. 

The troubled look that had settled upon 
the features of Henry Latrobe passed 
instantly away, 

"Gentlemen," he said solemnly, "a human 
life has been lost. In comparison with that 
our own loss is as nothing." 

Then glancing at the papers he still carried 
in his hand, this strong and dignified man 
said vaguely in a low tone, as if to himself: — 

" Dmitri Korinski has his final discharge." 

SWARM 3, 1 J OVKR |hE .WJLECKij' 1 



[In each pair of portraits the second face is precisely the same as the first, 

the costumes only having been modernized.] 

OME eminent naturalist has 
remarked that the most won- 
derful thing in Nature is the 
general identity amongst mem- 
bers of a species* It almost 
seems as if Nature turned out 
men and sheep and horses and dogs from 
certain definite moulds kept in her husy 
workshop, so much alike is each to the other 
It has been asserted that in a field oF grass 
there cannot be found two blades in all 
respects identical It will be seen, however, 
that if the blades of grass are more numerous 
than the differences between them perceptible 
to the eye, then there must be at least two 
blades exactly alike, or at least not to be dis- 
tinguished from each other by inspection. 
We may apply the same reasoning, not only 
to blades of grass in a field, but to faces of 
human beings in the world. If the number 
of perceptible differences between two faces 
be not greater than the total number of the 
human race, then, by parity of reasoning, 
there must exist at least two persons who are 
to all appearances exactly alike. Now, when 
it is considered that the human countenance 
does not vary except within comparatively 
narrow limits — no man, for example, having 
his nose in the centre of his forehead or his 
eyes placed below his chin — when we con- 
sider the effects of this limitation it will be 
seen that the number or these perceptible 
differences is probably immensely less than 
the estimated number of individuals existing 
on the globe -some fifteen hundred millions. 
We are thus brought to the curious con- 
clusion that there not only may be, but must 
be, pairs of individuals living who are, to all 
intents and purposes, exactly alike. This 
result, it need scarcely be observed, is borne 
out by the remarkable number of cases of 
mistaken identity to be found in the records 
of the Law Courts, But this is not all. We 
may, if we choose, push the same reasoning 
a litep farther, and consider not merely all 
persons living at one time, but all who have 

existed on the earth since the first appear- 
ance of mankind. We shall then be forced, 
with a vast increase of certainty, to this con- 
clusion—that among those untold millions 
there must have been not one or two, but a 
very considerable number of individuals 
whose counterparts have existed with such 
exactness of resemblance that, could the 
members of such pairs of duplicates have 
been brought together each would have 
started back in horror and amazement as if, 
like the hero of Foe's weird story, he had 
encountered his own ghost. 

So, then, doubles must occasionally pre- 
sent themselves — doubles in feature, if not 
in figure and disposition, Oliver Cromwell 
had his double— a humble shoemaker; Sir 
Robert Walpole had his double— a Suffolk 
publican, In fact, upon examination we 
should probably find that there is hardly a 
single celebrated character who has not had 
his physical counterpart discovered for him 
by his friends — or his enemies— during his 
lifetime, There were several doubles of Her 
late Majesty Queen Victoria, and it is only a 
few months since that quite a sensation was 
caused on the Continent by the appearance 
there of a gentleman bearing a truly astonish- 
ing likeness, in face, form, and habiliments, 
to King Edward VII. 

But if the chances of a given celebrity 
having a double are calculable, what are 
the odds against a celebrity's double being 
himself a celebrity ? Of course, we can 
lessen these odds if, instead of confining 
ourselves to contemporaries, we extend our 
field backwards a century or more. We 
shall then find facial traits, like history, 
repeating themselves. We shall find one 
statesman resembling another statesman who 
flourished ages ago ; one poet the very image 
of another poet in another and distant age, 
and so on. 

To the custodians of the National Gallery, 
to dealers and <:o! lectors of painted and 

engrave fl^feffv t «^OT^ enomenon 



has long been well known. Some- 
times the resemblance between 
portraits of different persons is so 
striking as utterly to deceive 
experts when off their guard. 
Thus, it is not many years since 
an Edinburgh publisher issued a 
little book of Gladstone's speeches, 
with a portrait of Daniel Webster 
as a frontispiece. The mistake 
was pointed out, but it might well 
have been persisted in, inasmuch 
as not one person in ten, perhaps 
not one in a hundred, would have 
suspected a blunder ; and in 
truth the likeness in the portraits 
is astonishing, although one would 
have said that Mr Gladstone was 
one of the few men not likely to 
have his features and 
expression dupli- 
cated elsewhere. 
" He had the face of 
a lion f ]? says Glad* 
stone's biographer, 
and that is exactly 
what Webster's 
biographer says of 

The striking like- 
ness between John 
Henry Newman and 
Ralph Waldo Kmer- 
son was much com 
men ted on in their 
lifetime. It comes 
out very clearly in 
their portraits — the 
same shaped head, 
the high - bridged 
nose, and prominent chin* More- 
over, which is rare, the expression 
in both men is the same. 

It must be borne in mind that 
in the portrait of Emerson (as 
of all the other portraits which 
follow) the face has been entirely 
transferred untouched from the 
portrait of Newman, different 
dress only being added. 

But in the foregoing we are 
dealing wftli characters who, being 
contemporaries, dress and arrange 
their hair more or less alike. 
But what an alteration is wrought 
by costume ! We have an interest- 
ing evidence of this in the case 
of the present Duke of Norfolk |^ 
and Sir Henry Sidney, 











In the same way 
the portrait of Henry 
VII. in the National 
Gallery and that of 
Mr. Asquith bear an 
astonishing resemb- 
lance. Probably in 
reality the King 
possessed the same 
order of physiog- 
nomy as the Premier 
flourishing four 
centuries later, and 
in the portraits this 
is most manifest* 
One might travel 
through a portrait 
gallery containing 
thousands of pic- 
tures and not find a 
single one showing 
in the least degree 
the Asquith features, 
which are distin- 
guished by a promi- 
nent forehead, a firm 
mouth, and a reces- 
sion of the lower 
part of the face, 

11 We are often 
asked/* said a King 
Street expert, " to 
identify portraits 
supposed to be of 
famous persons. 
Sometimes we 
identify them, but 
as portraits of quite 
other people. In 
that way many well- 
known likenesses of 
such men as Milton, 
Pope, Gray, Crom- 
well, and Wolfe have 
come to light. 
Having settled on 
the exact order of 
features from an 
existing portrait we 
are able by the date 
of costume to make 
a correct attri- 

But for the cos- 
tume the expert con- 
fessed he would 
often be sorely 
puzzled. What a 
ky chaplin, m.i\ fWclfp important part 




costume and coiffure 
play ! Take a por- 
trait of Benjamin 
Franklin, add a little 
hair and an obtru- 
sive shirt~colIar T and 
we have an almost 
perfect likeness of 
William Makepeace 

Again, is it not a 
proof of the kinship 
between the ages 
that the celebrated 
Italian, Agnoto 
Doni, should reap- 
pear in the twentieth 
century as Sir 
Edward Grey, British 
Secretary for Foreign 
Affairs ? 

It is really mar- 
vellous, the meta- 
morphosis wrought 
by the fashion of 
wearing the hair 
atone* Let us take 
a portrait of Liszt ; 
deprive him of his 
exuberant chevelure, 
alter his coat and 
collar, and slick a 
glass in his eye, and, 
presto! Mr. Henry 
Chaplin, M.P M 
stands before you. 

As long ago as 
the time of the 
Diamond Jubilee 
somebody called 
attention to the 
extraordinary re- 
semblance in feature 
between [iurt raits of 
the Canadian Pre- 
mier, Sir Wilfrid 
Lauricr, and of 
George Colman, the 
eminent English 
dramatic author of 
the eighteenth 
century, This re- 
semblance may duly 
be marked. 

In the same way 
an admirer sent Mr. 
Cyril Maude an en- 
graved portrait, by 












Romney, of Sir William 
Garrow, with the in- 
quiry : " Dear Mr. 
Maude, — Can you 
have lived before ? n 
Which, be it said, 
opens up a very pretty 
theory with regard to 
some of the u doubles Jl 
here represented. 

Was Sir Edward 
Carson, K,C, for ex- 
ample, Sir Eyre Coote, 
the di sti ngu i shed 
Indian soldier? Cer- 
tainly the features are 
the same, and it would 
be interesting to in- 
quire if the moral and 
intellectual equipment 
of the two men re- 
semble each other* 

Very incongruous in 
their respective careers 
have been Sir Chris- 
topher Wren and Mr. 
Forbes- Robertson t and 
yet why may not 
destiny have ordained 
that Sir Christopher 
should be the popular 
histrion and Mr, 
Robertson the great 
architect of St. Paul's ? 

Lord Curzon's con- 
nection with Oxford 
as Chancellor of the 
University makes it 
interesting that he 
should bear such a 
strong physical like- 
ness to the bygone 
Earl of Oxford t the 
famous statesman of 
Queen Anne's day, 

A resemblance even 
more diverting is that 
between the eighteenth- 
century Field- Marshal, 
the Marquess of Corn- 
wallis, and the late Sir 
Wjlliam Harcourt, 
with which our gallery 
of duplicated celebri- 
ties closes. 

Most of the portraits nf past 

ijclehrkiti-! iti tImh article are 

reproduced from ulimtogTuphft, 

TOf^l^ft ner y Walker, of the 

Original 3X0,01 pointings. 


AILORMEN don't bother 
much about their relations, as 
a rule, said the night watch- 
man ; sometimes because a 
rail way- ticket costs as much as 
a barrel o' beer, and they ain't 
got the money for both, and sometimes 
because most relations run away with the 
idea that a sailor man has been knocking 
about 'arf over the world just to bring them 
'ome presents. 

Then, agin, some relations are partikler 
about appearances, and they don't like it if a 
chap don't wear a collar and tidy 'imself up. 
Dress is everything nowadays ; put me in 
a top- 'at and a tail-coat, with a twopenny 
smoke stuck in my mouth, and who would 
know the difference between me and a lord? 
Put a bishop in my clothes, and you'd ask 
'im to J ave a 'ai f-pint as soon as you would me 
— sooner, pVaps. 

Talking of relations reminds me of Peter 
Russet's uncle. It's some years ago now, 
and Peter and old Sam Small and Ginger 
Dick 'ad just come back arter being away 
for nearly ten months. They *ad all got 
money in their pockets, and they was just 

talking about the spree they was going to 
have, when a letter was brought to Peter, wot 
had been waiting for *im at the office. 

He didn't like opening it at fust. The 
last letter he had *ad kept 'im hiding indoors 
for a week, and then made him ship a fort- 
night afore J e had meant to. He stood 
turning it over and over, and at last, arter 
Sam t wot was always a curious man, 'ad told 
J im that if he didn't open it he'd do it for 
J im, he tore it open and read it 

" It's from my old uncle, George Good- 
man/' he ses, staring. " Why, 1 ain't seen 
N im for over twenty years," 

" Do you owe f im any money ?" ses Sam. 

Peter shook his ? ead, " He's up in 
London," he ses, looking at the letter agin, 
l( up in London for the fust time in thirty- 
three years, and be wants to come and stay 
with me so that I can show J im about" 

" Wot is he ? " ses Sam, 

11 He's retired," ses Peter, trying not to 
speak proud* 

"Got money?" ses Sam, with a start. 

14 1 b'leeve so," ses Peter, in a off-hand 
way- " I don't s'pose 'e lives on air," 

" Any wives or children?" ses Sam* 

^oL Jtixviii.— 30l 

Copyright, 1909, by W. W\ Jacobs, in L1J*I &hBfal"iti|^Qf 441&UIGAN 



""No," ses Peter. " He 'ad a wife, but she 

"Then you have 'im, Peter," ses Sam, wot 
was always looking out for money. " Don't 
throw away a oppertunity like that. Why, if 
you treat 'im well he might leave it all to 

" No such luck," ses Peter 

"You do as Sam ses," ses Ginger. "I 
wish I'd got an uncle." 

" We'll try and give 'im a good time," ses 
Sam, "and if he's anything like Peter we 
shall enjoy ourselves." 

"Yes; but he ain't," ses Peter. "He's 
a very solemn, serious- minded man, and a 
strong teetotaller. Wot you'd call a glass 
o' beer he'd call pison. That's 'ow he got on. 
He's thought a great deal of in 'is place, I can 
tell you, but he ain't my sort." 

"That's a bit orkard," ses Sam, scratching 
his 'ead. ".Same time, it don't do to throw 
away a chance. If 'e was my uncle I should 
pretend to be a teetotaller while 'e was here, 
just to please 'im." 

"And when you felt like a drink, Peter," 
ses Ginger, " me and Sam would look arter 
'im while you slipped off to get it." 

" He could 'ave the room below us," ses 
Sam. "It is empty." 

Peter gave a sniff. " Wot about you and 
Ginger ? " he ses. 

"Wot about us?" ses Sam and Ginger, 
both together. 

" Why, you'd 'ave to be teetotallers, too," 
ses Peter. " Wot's the good o' me pretending 
to be steady if 'e sees I've got pals like you ? " 

Sam scratched his 'ead agin, ever so long, 
and at last he ses, "Well, mate," he ses, 
"drink don't trouble me nor Ginger. We 
can do without it, as far as that goes ; and 
we must all take it in turns to keep the old 
gentleman busy while the others go and get 
wot they want. You'd better go and take 
the room downstairs for 'im, afore it goes." 

Peter looked at 'im in surprise, but that 
was Sam all over. The idea o' knowing a 
man with money was too much for 'im, and 
he sat there giving good advice to Peter 
about 'is behaviour until Peter didn't know 
whether it was 'is uncle or Sam's. 'Owever, 
he took the room and wrote the letter, and 
next arternoon at three o'clock Mr. Goodman 
came in a four-wheel cab with a big bag and 
a fat umbrella. A short, stiffish-built man of 
about sixty he was, with 'is top lip shaved 
and a bit o' short grey beard. He 'ad on a 
top 'at and a tail-coat, black kid gloves and 
a little black bow, and he didn't answer the 
cabman back a single word. 

He seemed quite pleased to see Peter, and 
by and by Sam, who was bursting" with 
curiosity, came downstairs to ask Peter to 
lend 'im a boot-lace, and was interduced. 
Then Ginger came down to look for Sam, 
and in a few minutes they was all talking as 
comfortable as possible. 

" I ain't seen Peter for twenty years," ses 
Mr. Goodman — "twenty long years ! " 

Sam shook his 'ead and looked at the 

" I happened to go and see Peter's sister — 
my niece Polly," ses Mr. Goodman, "and 
she told me the name of 'is ship. It was 
quite by chance, because she told me it was 
the fust letter she had 'ad from him in seven 

" I didn't think it was so long as that," ses 
Peter. " Time passes so quick." 

His uncle nodded. "Ah, so it does," 'e 
ses. " It's all the same whether we spend it 
on the foaming ocean or pass our little lives 
ashore. Afore we can turn round, in a 
manner o' speaking, it 'as gorn." 

"The main thing," ses Peter, in a good 
voice, " is to pass it properly." 

"Then it don't matter," ses Ginger. 

" So it don't," ses Sam, very serious. 

"I held 'im in my" arms when 'e was a 
baby," ses Mr. Goodman, looking at Peter. 

" Fond o' children ? " ses Sam. 

Mr. Goodman nodded. "Fond of every- 
body," he ses. 

"That's : ow Peter is," ses Ginger; 
"specially young " 

Peter Russet and Sam both turned and 
looked at 'im very sharp. 

"Children," ses Ginger, remembering 'im- 
self, "and teetotallers. I s'pose it is being 
a teetotaller 'imself." 

" Is Peter a teetotaller ? " ses Mr. Goodman. 
" I'd no idea of it. Wot a joyful thing ! " 

" It was your example wot put it into his 
'ead fust, I b'leeve," ses Sam, looking at 
Peter for 'im to notice 'ow clever he was. 

"And then, Sam and Ginger Dick being 
teetotallers, too," ses Peter, " we all, natural- 
like, keep together." 

Mr. Goodman said they was wise men, and, 
arter a little more talk, he said 'ow would it 
be if they went out and saw a little bit of the 
great wicked city. They all said they would, 
and Ginger got quite excited about it until 
he found that it meant London. 

They got on a bus at Aldgate, and fust of 
all they went to the British Museum, and 
when Mr. Goodman was tired o' that — and 
long arter the others was — they went into a 
place and 'ad a r ice strong cup of tea and a 





piece o' cake each. When they come out o r 
there they all walked about looking at the 
shops until they was tired out, and arter wot 
Mr. Goodman said was a very improving 
evening they all went 'ome. 

Sam and Ginger went 'ome just for the 
look o p the thing s and arter waiting a few 
minutes in their room they crept downstairs 
agin to spend wot was left of the evening. 
They went down as quiet as mice, but, for all 
that, just ns they was passing Mr. Goodman's 
room the door opened, and Peter, in a polite 
voice, asked 'em to step inside. 

" We was just thinking you'd be dull up 
there all alone," he ses, 

Sam lost 'is presence o' mind, and afore he 
knew wot 'e was doing 'im and Ginger 'ad 
walked in and sat down. They sat there for 
over an hour and a 'arf talking, and then 
Sam, with a look at Ginger, said they must 
be going, because he 'ad got to call for a pair 
o' boots he 'ad left to be mended. 

"Why, Sam, wot are you thinking of ? ir 
ses Peter, who didn't want anybody to 'ave 
wot he couldn't. u Why, the shop's shut 1 ' 

„ "I don't think so" ses Sam, glaring at 'im. 
" Anyway, we can go and see." 

Peter said he'd go with 'im, and just as 
they got to the door Mr. Goodman said he'd 
go too. O' course, the shops was shut, and 
arter Mr. Goodman 'ad stood on Tower Hill 
admiring the Tower by moonlight till Sam 
felt ready to drop, they all walked back. 
Three times Sam's boot-lace come undone, 
but as the others all stopped too to see 'im 
do it up it didn't do 'im much good. Wot 
with temper and dryness 'e could 'ardly bid 
Peter "Goodnight." 

Sam and Ginger 'ad something the next 
morning, but morning ain't the time for it ; 
and arter they had *ad dinner Mr. Goodman 
asked 'em to go to the Zoological Gardens 
with 'im, He paid for them all, and he J ad 
a lot to say about kindness to animals and 
'ow you could do anything with 'em a'most 
by kindness. He walked about the place 
talking like a book, and when a fat monkey, 
wot was pretending to be asleep, got a bit o' 
Sam's whisker, he said it was on'y instink, 
and the animal had no wish to do 'im 'arm, 




"Very likely thought it was doing you a 
kindness, Sam," ses Ginger. 

Mr. Goodman said it was very likely, afore 
Sam could speak, and arter walking about 
and looking at the other things they come 
out and 'ad a nice, strong, 'ot cup o' tea, same 
as they 'ad the day before, and then walked 
about not knowing what to do with them- 

Sam got tired of it fust, and catching 
Ginger's eye said he thought it was time to 
get 'ome in case too much enjoyment wasn't 
good for 'em. His idea was to get off with 
Ginger and make a night of it, and when 'e 
found Peter and his uncle was coming too, 
he began to think that things was looking 

" I don't want to spile your evening," he 
says, very perlite. " I must get 'ome to mend 
a pair o' trowsis o' mine, but there's no need 
for you to come." 

"I'll come and watch you," ses Peter's 

" And then I'm going off to bed early," 
ses Sam. 

" Me, too," ses Ginger, and Peter said he 
could hardly keep 'is eyes open. 

They got on a bus, and as Sam was about 
to foller Ginger and Peter on top, Mr. 
Goodman took hold of 'im by the arm and 
said they'd go inside. He paid two penny 
fares, and while Sam was wondering 'ow to 
tell 'im that it would be threepence each, the 
bus stopped to take up a passenger and he 
got up and moved to the door. 

"They've gone up there," he ses, pointing. 

Afore Sam could stop 'im he got off, and 
Sam, full o 1 surprise, got off too, and follered 
'im on to the pavement. 

" Who's gone up there ? " he ses, as the 
bus went on agin. 

"Peter and Mr. Ginger Dick," ses Mr. 
Goodman. " But don't you trouble. You 
go 'ome and mend your trowsis." 

" But they're on the bus," ses Sam, staring. 
" Dick and Peter, I mean." 

Mr. Goodman shook his 'ead. 

" They got off. Didn't you see 'em ? " he 

" No," ses Sam, " I'll swear they didn't." 

"Well, it's my mistake, I s'pose," ses 
Peter's uncle. " But you get off home ; I'm 
not tired yet, and I'll walk." 

Sam said 'e wasn't very tired, and he walked 
along wondering whether Mr. Goodman was 
quite right in his 'ead. For one thing, 'e 
seemed upset about something or other, and 
kept taking little peeps at 'im in a way he 
couldn't understand at all. 

Digitized by LiOOglC 

" It was nice tea we 'ad this artemoon," 
ses Mr. Goodman at last. 

" Delicious," ses Sam. 

" Trust a teetotaller for knowing good tea," 
ses Mr. Goodman. " I expect Peter enjoyed 
it. I s'pose 'e is a very strict teetotaller ? " 

" Strict ain't the word for it," ses Sam, 
trying to do 'is duty by Peter. " We all are." 

" That's right," ses Mr. Goodman, and he 
pushed his 'at back and looked at Sam very 
serious. They walked on a bit further, and 
then Peter's uncle stopped sudden just as 
they was passing a large public-'ouse and 
looked at Sam. 

" I don't want Peter to know, 'cos it might 
alarm 'im," he ses, " but I've come over a bit 
faint. I'll go in 'ere for 'arf a minnit and sit 
down. You'd better wait outside." 

" I'll come in with you, in case you want 
help," ses Sam. " I don't mind wot people 

Mr. Goodman tried to persuade 'im not to, 
but it was all no good, and at last 'e walked 
in and sat down on a tall stool that stood 
agin the bar, and put his hand to his 'ead. 

" I s'pose we shall 'ave to 'ave something," 
he ses in a whisper to Sam ; " we can't expect 
to come in and sit down for nothing. What'll 
you take ? " 

Sam looked at 'im, but he might just as 
well ha' looked at a brass door-knob. 

" I — I — I'll »ave a small ginger-beer," he 
ses at last, "a very small one." 

" One small ginger," ses Mr. Goodman to 
the barmaid, " and one special Scotch." 

Sam could 'ardly believe his ears, and he 
stood there 'oldin' his glass o* ginger-beer and 
watching Peter's teetotal uncle drink whisky, 
and thought 'e must be dreaming. 

" I dessay it seems very shocking to you," 
ses Mr. Goodman, putting down is glass and 
dryin' 'is lips on each other, "but I find it 
useful for these attacks." 

" I — I s'pose the flavour's very nasty ? " ses 
Sam, taking a sip at 'is ginger-beer. 

44 Not exactly wot you could call nasty," 
ses Mr. Goodman, "though I dessay it would 
seem so to you. I don't suppose you could 
swallow it." 

" I don't s'pose I could," ses Sam, " but 
I've a good mind to 'ave a try. If it's good 
for one teetotaller I don't see why it should 
hurt another." 

Mr. Goodman looked at 'im very hard, 
and then he ordered a whisky and stood 
watching while Sam, arter pretending for a 
minnit to look at it as though 'e didn't know 
wot to do with it, took a sip and let it roll 
round 'is mouth. 




"Well?" ses Mr. Good- 
man, looking at 'im 

" It ain't so 'orrid as 
I 'ad fancied," ses Sam, 
lapping up the rest very 
gentle. u *Ave you 'ad 
enough to do you all the 
good it ought to ? " 

Mr. Goodman said that 
it was no good 'arf doing 
a thing, and pYaps he 'ad 
better 'ave one more ; 
and arter Sam 'ad paid 
for the next two they went 
out arm-in-arm. 

" 'Ow cheerful every- 
body looks ! " ses Mr. 
Goodman, smiling, 

"They're going to 
amuse theirselves, I ex- 
pect," ses Sam — " music- 
'alls and such-like. JJ 

Mr. Goodman shook 
his 'ead at 'em. 

41 Music - 'alls ain't so 
bad as some people try 
to make out," ses Sam. 
" Look 'ere ; I took some 
drink to see what the 
flavour was like; suppose 
you go to a music-'all to 
see wot that's like ? " 

"It seems on J y fair/* ses Peter's uncle, 

"It is fair, "ses Sam, and twenty minutes 
arterwards they was sitting in a music-'all 
drinking each other's 'ealths and listening to 
the songs— Mr. Goodman with a big cigar in 
'is mouth and his 'at cocked over one eye, 
and Sam beating time to the music with 'is 

" 'Ow do you like it ? " he ses. 

Mr. Goodman didn't answer J im because 
'e was joining in the chorus with one side of 
'is mouth and keeping 'is cigar alight with 
the other. He just nodded at 'im ; but J e 
looked so 'appy that Sam felt it was a 
pleasure to sit there and look at 'im. 

" I wonder wot Peter and Ginger is doirf ? " 
he ses, when the song was finished. 

"I don't know," ses Mr. Goodman, "and, 
wot's more, I don't care. If I'd 'ad any 
idea that Peter was like wot he is I should 
never 'ave wrote to ! im. I can't think 'ow 
you can stand *im." 

"He ain't so bad," ses Sam, wondering 
whether be ought to tell ; im 'arf of wot Peter 
really was like. 


"Bad!" ses Mr, Goodman. " I come up 
to London for a 'oliday — a change, mind 
you— and I thought Peter and me was going 
to 'ave a good time. Instead o' that, he goes 
about with a face as long as a fiddle. He 
don't drink, J e don't go to places of amuse- 
ment — innercent places of amusement— and 
! is idea of enjoying life is to go walking about 
the streets and drinking cups o' tea," 

" We must try and alter 'im," ses Sam, 
arter doing a bit o' thinking. 

"Certainly not," ses Mr, Goodman, laying 
his 'and on Sam's knee, " Far be it from me 
to interfere with a feller-creature's ideas o' 
wot's right. Besides, he might get writing 
to 'is sister agin, and she might tell my 

"But Peter said she was dead," ses Sam, 
very puzzled. 

" I married agin/' ses Peter's uncle, in a 
whisper, 'cos people was telling 'im to keep 
quiet, " a tartar — a perfect tartar. She's in a 
'orsepittle at present, else I shouldn't be 'ere. 
And I shouldn't ha J been able to come if I 
'adn't found five pounds wot she'd hid in a 
match-box up the chirnbley." 




" But wot'll you do when she finds it out?" 
ses Sam, opening 'is eyes. 

" I'm going to 'ave the house cleaned and 
the chimbleys swept to welcome her 'ome," 
ses Mr. Goodman, taking a sip o' whisky. 
" It'll be a little surprise for her." 

They stayed till it was over, and on the 
bus he gave Sam some strong peppermint 
lozenges wot 'e always carried about with 'im, 
and took some 'imself. He said 'e found 'em 

"What are we going to tell Peter and 
Ginger ? " ses Sam, as they got near the 

" Tell 'em ? " ses Mr. Goodman. " Tell 'em 
the truth. How we follered 'em when they 
got off the bus, and 'ave been looking for 'em 
ever since. I'm not going to 'ave my 'oliday 
spoilt by a teetotal nevvy, I can tell you." 

He started on Peter, wot was sitting on his 
bed with Ginger waiting for them, the moment 
he got inside, and all Ginger and Peter could 
say didn't make any difference. 

" Mr. Small see you as plain as what I 
did," he ses. 

" Plainer," ses Sam. 

" But I tell you we come straight 'ome," 
ses Ginger, "and we've been waiting for you 
'ere ever since." 

Mr. Goodman shook his 'ead at 'im. 
"Say no more about it," he ses, in a kind 
voice. " I dessay it's rather tiresome for 
young men to go about with two old ones, 
and in future, if you and Peter keep together, 
me and my friend Mr. Small will do the 

Sam shook 'ands with 'im, and though 
Peter tried his 'ardest to make 'im alter his 
mind it was no good. His uncle patted 'im 
on the shoulder, and said they'd try it for a 
few days, at any rate, and Ginger, wot thought 
it was a very good idea, backed 'im up. 
Everybody seemed pleased with the idea 
except Peter Russet, but arter Sam 'ad told 
'im in private wot a high opinion 'is uncle 
'ad got of 'im, and 'ow well off he was, 'e 
gave way. 

They all enjoyed the next evening, and 
Sam and Mr. Goodman got on together 
like twin brothers. They went to a place 
of amusement every night, and the on'y 
unpleasantness that happened was when 
Peter's uncle knocked a chemist's shop up 
at a quarter-past twelve one night to buy a 
penn'orth o' peppermint lozenges. 

They 'ad four of the 'appiest evenings 
together that Sam 'ad ever known; and Mr. 
Goodman would 'ave been just as 'appy too if 
it hadn't ha' been for the thoughts o' that five 

pounds. The more 'e thought of it the more 
unlikely it seemed that 'is wife would blame 
it on to the sweep, and one night he took 
the match-box out of 'is pocket and shook 
his 'ead over it till Sam felt quite sorry for 

" Don't take up your troubles afore they 
come," he ses. " 'Orsepittles are dangerous 

Mr. Goodman cheered up a bit at that, 
but he got miserable agin the next night 
because 'is money was getting low and he 
wanted another week in London. 

" I've got seven shillings and fourpence 
and two stamps left," he ses. " Where it's 
all gone to I can't think." 

" Don't you worry about that," ses Sam. 
"I've got a pound or two left yet." 

" No, I ain't going to be a burden on you," 
ses Mr. Goodman, " but another week I must 
'ave, so I must get the money somehow. 
Peter can't spend much, the way he goes on." 

Sam gave a little cough. 

" I'll get a pound or two out of 'im," ses 
Mr. Goodman. 

Sam coughed agin. " Won't he think it 
rather funny ? " he ses, arter a bit. 

" Not if it's managed properly," ses Mr. 
Goodman, thinking 'ard. "I'll tell you 'ow 
we'll do it. To-morrow morning, while we 
are eating of our breakfast, you ask me to 
lend you a pound or two." 

Sam, what 'ad just taken up 'is glass for a 
drink, put it down agin and stared at 'im. 

" But I don't want no money," he ses ; 
"and, besides, you 'aven't got any." 

" You do as I tell you," ses Mr. Goodman, 
"and when you've got it, you hand it 
over to me, see ? Ask me to lend you five 

Sam thought as 'ow the whisky 'ad got 
to Mr. Goodman's 'ead at last. 'Owever, to 
pacify 'im he promised to do wot 'e was 
told, and next morning, when they was all at 
breakfast, he looks over and catches Mr. 
Goodman's eye. 

" I wonder if I might be so bold as to ask 
a favour of you ? " he ses. 

"Certainly," ses Peter's uncle, "and glad I 
shall be to oblige you. There is no man I've 
got a greater respect for." 

"Thankee," ses Sam. "The fact is, I've 
run a bit short owing to paying a man some 
money I owed 'im. If you could lend me 
five pounds, I couldn't thank you enough." 

Mr. Goodman put down 'is knife and fork 
and wrinkled up 'is forehead. 

" I'm very sorry," he ses, feeling in 'is 
pockets ; " do.JKMli wahtrillTo-day ? " 




l\V, , 


"Yes ; I should like it," ses Sam, 

"It's most annoying," ses Mr, Goodman, 
" but I was so afraid o' pickpockets that I 
didn't bring much away with me. If you 
could wait till the day arter to-morrow, when 
my money is sent to me, you can 'ave ten if 
you like." 

"You re very kind," ses Sam, "but that 
*ud be too late for me. 1 must try and get it 
somewhere else*" 

Peter and Ginger went on eating their 
breakfast, but every time Peter l<K>ked up he 
caught 'is uncle looking at 'im in such a sur- 
prised and disappointed sort o' way that 'e 
didn't like the look of it at all. 

" I could just do it for a couple o' days, 
Sam," he ses at last, " but it'll leave me very 

"That's right," ses his uncle, smiling. 
" My nevvy, Peter Russet, will lend it to you, 
Mr Small, of 'is own free will He 'as offered 
afore he was asked, and that's the proper way 
to do it, in my opinion." 

He reached acrost the table and shook 
'ands with Peter, and said that generosity ran 
in their family, and something seemed to tell 

by Google 

'im as Peter wouldn't lose by it. Everybody 
seemed pleased with each other* and arter 
Ginger Dick and Peter J ad gone out Mr* 
Goodman took the five pounds off of old 
Sam and stowed 'em away very careful in the 

" It's nice to 'ave money agin," he ses. 
"There's enough for a week's enjoyment 

" Yes," ses Sam, slow-like ; " but wot I 
want to know is, wot about the day arter 
to-morrow, when Peter expects J is money ? " 

Mr, Goodman patted 'im on the shoulder. 
" Don't you worry about Peter's troubles," he 
ses. "I know exactly wot to do; it's all 
planned out, Now I'm going to 'ave a lay 
down for an hour — I didn't get much 
sleep last night— and if you'll call me at 
twelve o'clock we'll go somewhere. Knock 

He patted 'im on the shoulder agin t and 
Sam, arter fidgeting about a bit, went out. 
The last time he ever see Peter's uncle he 
was laying on the bed with 'is eyes shut, 
smiling in his sleep* And Peter Russet 
didn't see Sam for eighteen months. 

Original from 

The Best Puzzles with Coins— Solutions. 


FIGS, 1-2, 


N order to place five permits 
so that every penny shall touch 
every other penny, first lay 
three of the pennies on the 
table as in Fig, I. Now hold 
the remaining two pennies in 
the position 
shown in Fig* 
2, so that they 
touch one 
another at the 
top, and at the 
base are in 
contact with 
the three hori 

In the little 
test of one's 

power of correctly judging distances the large 
majority of readers will doubtless have found 
that they did not move the central penny 
nearly far enough away from the other two 
coins. Our diagram (Fig, 3) shows the correct 
distance, CD and EF being equal to AB, 

As to the three tests of memory, of course 
the date on a penny is on the same side as 
Britannia — the " tail " side, Six pennies may 
be laid around another penny, all flat on the 
table, so that every one 
of them touches the cen- 
tral one. The number of 
threepenny - pieces that 
may be laid on the surface 
of a half crown, so that no 
piece lies on another or over- 
laps the edge of the half- 
crown, is one. A second 
three penny -piece will overlap 
the edge of the larger coin. 
Few people guess fewer than 
three, and many persons give 
an absurdly high number. 

In the Elephant Puzzle our 
illustration (Fig. 4) shows that if 
you conceal with the thumb all 
but the part represented, the top 
of the Queen's head makes a very 
tolerable elephant. The second 
question is a catch, for the "one on 
the other side*' is the word "one 
in "one shilling." 

In the Cross Puzzle there are nine- 
teen different squares to be indicated. 
Of these nine will be of the size 
shown by the four a's in the diagram I fv 

Fit;. 4— THE 

FU; + 3 —THE 


(Fig. 5), four of the size shown by the £'s, tout 
of the size shown by the f% and two of the 
size shown by them's. If you now remove the 
six coins marked r, not one of these 
squares can be formed from the coins that 

To solve the Square Puzzle, simply arrange 
sixteen of the coins in the form of a square. 
Then place a second coin on top of the first 
one in the first row, one on the third one in 
the second row, one on the fourth one in the 
third row, and one on the second one in the 
fourth row. There are now five coins in 
every row, every column, and in each of the 
two diagonal! 

The magic square 
with coins is solved 
by placing thirteen 
additional coins as in 
the illustration (Fig* 
6). Every row, 
column, and diagonal 
now adds up fifteen 
shillings, and these 
fifteen coins are the 
fewest possible with 
which the puzzle can 
be solved. 

In the Even Rows Puzzle there are eight 
coins on the side of the 
square. Now, the num- 
ber of combinations of 
eight things taken three 
at a time is 56, the square 
of which is 3,136, and 
six times this number is 
18,816, the correct 
The three specimen ex- 
amples of "patience n with the 
Pile Puzzle with sixteen 
counters are solved as follows. 
The numbers must be under 
stood to refer to the coins, and 
not to their positions in the row, 
Move 7-2, 8-7, 9-8, 10-15, 6-10, 
5-6, 14-16, 13-14, 12-13, 3-1, 4-3, 
1 1-4, and we have piles on Nos. 1, 
2, 15, and 16. Play 9-4, 109, 
ii-io, 6-14, 5-6, 13-15, S-T2, 7-8, 
l6 "5. 3-* 3* 2-3* i-*t & n d three of 
the piles are left close together on 
13, 14, and 15. Again play 8-3, 
914, 16 12, 15, 10-9, 7-10, 1 1-8, 
21, 4-16., .13 (2* 6-1 ii i5"4i a »d the 
piles aWnSWm fjpg 1 is, and 14. 



solutions in three are more difficult to 
discover. P 

The solution to the Eight Engines Puzzle 
is as follows : The engine that has had its fire 
drawn and therefore cannot move is No. 5. 
Move the other engines in the following 
order : 7, 6, 3, 7, 6, 1, 2, 4, 1, 3/8, 1, 3, 2, 4, 
3, 2, seventeen moves in fill, leaving the 
eight engines in the required order. 

The way to arrange the seven pennies for 
the eccentric deal is as follows, reading from 
the top to the bottom of the pile : head, tail, 
tail, head, head, head, tail. In committing 
it to memory, all you need remember is, 

i» 2, 3, 

FIG. 6.— THE 


The answer to the Ten 
Coins Puzzle is that there 
are just 2,400 different 
ways. Any three coins may 
be taken from one side to 
combine with one coin 
taken from the other side. 
I give four examples (Fig. 
7). We may thus select 
three from the top in ten 
ways and one from the 
bottom in five ways, 
making fifty selections. But 
we may also select three 
from the bottom and one 
from the top in fifty ways. 
We may thus select the 
four coins in one hundred 
ways, and the four that are removed may be 
arranged by permutation in twenty four ways. 
Thus there are 24 x 100= 2,400 different 

The simple rule for solving Sharp's Puzzle 
is this : " Always move to the point that 
you last moved from" Thus, if you start 
by touching point No. 1 and moving to 
an adjoining point (say 4), you must next 
touch the point (6) that will enable you to 
move to No. 1 and leave your penny there. 
And so with all the subsequent moves. 

In the puzzle of the plates and coins 
number the plates from 1 to 12 in the 
order that the boy was seen to be going in 
the illustration. Starting from 1, proceed as 
follows, where " i to 4" means that you take 
the coin from plate No. 1 and transfer it to 
plate No. 4: 1 to 4, s to 8, 9 to 12, 3 to 6, 
7 to 10, 11 to 2, and complete the last revo- 
lution to 1, making three revolutions in all. 
Or you can proceed this way : 4 to 7, 8 to 1 1, 
12 to 3, 2 to 5, 6 to 9, 10 to 1. It is 
easy to* solve in four revolutions, but the 

Vol. xxxvGi.-3t 









2s. 6a 



which will remind you that there 
must be one head; two tails, three hieads, 
and the final tail. You 
can then quickly adjust 
the coins without any 
apparent thought, and 
greatly perplex the novice 
who tries to repeat your 

The trick with the eleven 
coins lies in a little quibble 
over the wording of the 
question. There are eleven 
coins on the table. You 
remove five of them to 
another part of the table, 
" add four coins " (to the 
second heap) " and leave 
nine " (in the second 
heap !). 

On the next page is the 
table of the numbers of different ways in which 
the current coins of the realm may be changed. 




u, ;azLE- 



Farthing in , 

Halfpenny in 

Penny in 

Threepenny -piece in 
Sixpence in :.. 

Shilling; in , 

Florin in 

Half-crown in 
Double- florin in 
Crown in 

Half-sovereign in ... 
Sovereign in 


1 way. 
3 ways. 

1 6 ways. 
66 ways. 
402 ways. 
3,818 ways. 
8,709 ways. 
60,239 ways. 
166,651 ways. 
6,261,622 ways. 
500,291,833 ways. 

The way to help the American tradesman 
out of his dilemma is this. Describing the 
coins by the number of cents that they repre- 
sent, the tradesman puts on the counter 50 
and 25 ; the buyer puts down 100, 3, and 2 ; 
the stranger adds his 10, 10, 5, 2, and 1. 
Now, considering that the cost of the purchase 
amounted to 34 cents, it is clear that, out of 
this pooled money, the tradesman has to 
receive 109, the buyer 71, and the stranger 
his 28 cents. Therefore, it is obvious at a 
glance that the 100-piece must go to the 
tradesman, and it then follows that the 
50-piece must go to the buyer, and then 
the 25-piece can only go to the stranger. 
Another glance will now make it clear 
that the two 10-cent pieces must go to 
the buyer, because the tradesman now only 
wants 9 and the stranger 3. Then it 
becomes obvious that the buyer must take 
the 1 cent, that the stranger must take the 
3 cents, and the tradesman the 5, 2, and 2. 
To sum up, the tradesman takes 100, 5, 2, 
and 2 ; the buyer, 50, io, 10, and 1 ; the 
stranger, 25 and 3. It will be seen that not 
one of the three persons retains any one of 
his own coins. 

In the case of the three broken coins, if 
these, when perfect, were worth 253 pence, 
and are now, in their broken condition, worth 
240 pence, it should be obvious that «*& of 
the original value has been lost And as the 
same fraction of each coin has been broken 
away, each coin has lost **& of its original 

In tossing with the five pennies all at the 
same time, it is obvious that there are 32 
different ways in which the coins may fall, 
because the first coin may fall in either of 
two ways, then the second coin may also fall 
in either of two ways, and so on. Therefore, 
five 2's multiplied together make 32. Now, 
how are these 32 ways made up? Here they 
are : — 

(a) 5 heads I way 

(b) 5 tails 

(c) 4 heads and 1 tail 
(a) 4 tails and 1 head 
(e) 3 heads and 2 tails 
(/) 3 tails and 2 heads 

1 way 
5 ways 
5 ways 

10 ways 



Now, it will be seen that the only favour- 
able cases are a, £, c, and d— 1 2 cases. The 
remaining 20 cases are unfavourable, because 
they do not give at least four heads or four 
tails. Therefore the chances are only 1 2 to 
20 in your favour, or (which is the. same 
thing) 3 to 5. Put another way, you have 
only 3 chances out of 8. 

The amount that should be paid for a 
draw from the bag that contains three sove- 
reigns and one shilling is 15s. 3d. Many 
persons will say that, as one's chances of 
drawing a sovereign were 3 out of 4, one 
should pay three-fourths of a pound, or 15s., 
overlooking the fact that one must draw at 
least a shilling — there being no blanks. 

In order to be sure of winning in the game 
of fifteen you must draw first, and that first 
draw must be 2. T^hen, after every draw 
that your opponent makes you must draw 
the difference between that last draw of his 
and 4. That is to say, if he draws 1 you 
draw 3, if he draws 3 you draw 1, and if he 
draws 2 you draw 2 also. The general rule 
for winning with any number of coins in the 
heap is this. You must always leave your 
opponent after your first play, and every play, 
a number of coins that leaves 1 over when 
divided by 4. Thus, we have seen that with 
15 coins you draw 2, and so leave 13, which 
is 1 more than a multiple. of 4. If he put 20 
counters on the table you would draw 3 and 
win, because the 1 7 left when divided by 4 
leaves 1 over. If he put down 26 coins you 
would draw 1, and so on. But if the number 
that he places on the table should happen 10 
be a number that itself leaves 1 over when 
divided by 4, then you must insist on your 
opponent playing first. By following this 
simple little rule you can thus always be 
sure of winning, no matter how many coins 
he places on the table. 

To perform the trick with the sixpence 
under the tumbler, it is necessary that there 
shall be a table-cloth. You have then merely 
to scratch the cloth with the nail of the 
forefinger just in front of the sixpence and 
the coin will be gradually brought out- 
side into a position in which it can be 
picked up. 

The answer to the little Purse Puzzle is 
this. It is true that twenty pennies may be 
placed in "a purse," and that twenty pennies 
may be placed " all at the same time " in " an 
empty purse " ; but you cannot " one at a 
time" place more than pne penny in "an 
empty purse," because after you have put in 
the first penny the purse is no longer empty. 
The correct answer is therefore "one." 




()\V Dickie made a resolution 
— that he would not set out 
the charm of Tinkler and seal 
and moonseeds until he had 
established Mr Beale in an 
honourable calling and made 
a life for him in which he could be happy. 

The pawnbroker, always a good friend to 
Dickie, had the wit to see that the child was 
not lying when he said that the box and the 
hag and the gold pieces had been given to 

He changed the gold pieces stamped with 
the image of Queen Elizabeth for others 
stumped with the image of Queen Victoria. 
And he gave five pounds for the wrought iron 
box, and owned that he should make a little 
— a very little— out of it. 

11 Thank you very much," said Dickie; 
*' you've been a good friend to me. I hope 
some day I shall do you a better turn than 
the little you rfiake out of my boxes and 
things." D 



The Jew sold the wrought-iron box that 
very week for twenty guineas. 

And Dickie and Mr. Beale now possessed 
nearly thirty pounds. New clothes were 
bought — more furniture* Twenty- two pounds 
of the money was put in the savings bank. 
Dickie bought carving tools, and went to the 
Goldsmiths* Institute to learn to use them. 
The front bedroom was fitted with a bench 
for Dickie. The back sitting-room was a 
kennel for the dogs which Mr Beale instantly 
began to collect. The front room was a 
parlour — a real parlour, A decent young 
woman — Amelia by name — was engaged to 
come in every day and " do for " them. The 
clothes they wore were clean ; the food they 
ate was good. Dickie's knowledge of an 
ordered life in a great house helped him to 
order life in a house that was little. And 
day by day they earned their living. The 
new life was fairly started. And now Dickie 
felt that he might dare to go back through 
the three hundred years to all that was waiting 
for him thermal from 

month," he told 

1909, by E 

:Tl!B[iJ* ,;ff * i|fflEAN 



himself; "a month here and a month there, 
that will keep things even ; because if I were 
longer there than I am here, I should not be 
growing up so fast here as I should there, 
and every thing would be crooked. And how 
silly if I were a grown man in that life and 
had to come back and be a little boy in 

Beale was asleep in bed. Dickie had stayed 
awake and crept down into the parlour, where 
a little layer of clear red fire still burned. 
He put out the moonseeds and Tinkler and 
the seal, and the magic worked, and he knew 
that he had left the world where Beale was 
and gone back to that other time when James 
the First was King, Dickie, thrilled to feel 


how cleverly he had managed everything, 
moved his legs in the bed, rejoicing that he 
was no longer lame. But the room where he 
opened his eyes was not the big tapestried 
room he was used to, It was small and 
panelled ; also it was rather dark. 

This surprised Dickie more than anything 
else that had ever happened to him ; and it 
frightened him a little, too. If the spell of 
the moonseeds and the rattle and the white 
seal was not certain to take him where he 
wished to be, nothing in the world was 
certain. He might be anywhere where he 
didn't wish to be ; he might be anyone whom 
he did not wish to be + 

" I'll never try it again," he said, "if I get 
out of this. I'll stick to the wood-carving, 
and not go venturing about any more among 
dreams and things. 1 ' 

He got up and looked out of the narrow 
window. From it he saw a garden, but it 
was not a garden he had ever seen before. 
It had marble seats, with balustrades, and the 
damp dews of autumn hung chill about its 
almost leafless trees. 

He turned to open the door and there was 
no door. AH was dark, even panelling. He 
was not shut in a room, but in a box. Non- 
sense ! Boxes did not have beds 
in them and windows. 

And then suddenly Dickie had 
a most odd feeling, rather as if a 
clock had struck — or had stopped 
striking — a feeling of sudden 
change. But he could not 
wait to wonder about it or to 
question what it was he really 

His brave little heart was the 
only thing that helped, and gave 
him the desperate courage to beat on the 
panels and shout, " Nurse ! Nurse ! Nurse ! " 
A crack of light split and opened between 
two panels. They slid back, and between 
them the nurse came to him, the nurse with 
the ruff and the frilled cap and the kind, 
wrinkled face. 

He got his arms round her big, comfortable 

" There, there, my lamb," she said, petting 
him. His clothes hung over her arm, his 
doublet and little fat breeches, his stock- 
ings, and the shoes with rosettes. 

"Oh, I am here ! Oh, I am so glad! I 
thought I'd got to somewhere different/* 

She sat down on the bed and began to 
dress him, soothing him back to confidence 
with gentle touches and pet names. 



silver sugarloaf buttons of the doublet. " You 
must listen carefully. It's a month since you 
went away." 

" But I thought time didn't move — I 
thought everything stayed still while I was in 
the other world ? " 

" It was the money upset everything," she 
said. " It always does upset everything 
I ought to have known. Now attend care 
fully. No one knows you have been away. 
You've seemed to be here — learning and play 
ing and doing everything like you used. And 
you're on a visit now to your cousins at your 
uncle's town house. Thou'lt have lessons 
alone to-day. One of thy cousins goes with 
his mother to be her page and bear her train 
at the King's revels at Whitehall, and the 
other must sit and sew her sampler. Her 
mother says she hath run wild too long." 

So Dickie had lessons alone, and when the 
task was done he rushed into the room where 
his cousins were. He was astonished to 
find that he knew his way about the house 
quite well, though he could not remember 
ever having been there before, and cried 
out : — 

" Thy task done ? Mine is, too. So 
now we are free. Come, play ball in the 
garden ! " 

Now, if you have read a book called " The 
House of Arden " you will already know that 
Dickie's cousins were called Edred and 
Elfrida, and that their father, Lord Arden, 
had a beautiful castle by the sea, as well as 
a house in London, and that he and his wife 
were great favourites at the Court of King 
James the First. If you have not read that 
book and didn't already know these things — 
well, you know them now. And Arden was 
Dickie's own name too, in his old life, and 
his father was Sir Richard Arden, of Deptford 
and Aylesbury. 

"We're going to find our father," said 
Edred, after a time ; " but you mustn't be in 
it, because we're going away, and you've got 
to stay here." 

14 1 don't see," said Richard, " why I 
shouldn't have a hand in it." 

" There is a reason," said Edred. " You 
go to bed, Richard." 

14 Not me," said Dickie of Deptford, firmly. 

44 If we tell you," said Elfrida, explaining 
affectionately, " you won't believe us." 

44 You might at least," said Richard Arden, 
catching desperately at the grand manner 
that seemed to suit these times of ruff, and 
sword, and cloak, and conspiracy — " you 
might at least make the trial." 

"Very well, I will," said Elfrida, abruptly. 

44 No, Edred, he has a right to hear. He's 
one of us. He won't give us away, will you, 
Dickie, dear ? " 

" You know I won't," Dickie assured her. 

"Well, then," said Elfrida, slowly, "we 
are — you listen hard and believe with both 
hands and with all your might, or you won't 
be able to beVeve at all. We are not what 
we seem, Edred and I. We don't really 
belong here at all. Haven't we seemed odd 
to you at all — different, I mean, from the 
Edred and Elfrida you've been used to ? " 

The remembrance of the stopped-clock 
feeling came strongly on Dickie and he 

" Well, that's because we're not the ones 
you've been used to. We don't belong here. 
We belong three hundred years later in 
history. Only we've got a charm— because 
in our time Edred is Lord Arden, and there's 
a white mole who helps us and we can go 
anywhere in history we like." 

44 Not quite," said Edred. 

44 No — but there are chests of different 
clothes, and whatever clothes we put on we 
come to that time in history. I know it 
sounds like silly untruths," she added, rather 
sadly, "and I knew you wouldn't believe it, 
but it is true. And now we're going back 
to our own times — Queen Alexandra, you 
know, and King Edward the Seventh, and 
electric light, and motors, and nineteen 
hundred and eight. Don't try to believe it 
if it hurts you, Dickie, dear. I know it's 
most awfully rum — but it's the real, true 

Richard said nothing. He had never 
thought it possible that magic like this could 
happen to anyone else. 

And then the nurse came for them, and 
Richard was sent to bed. But he did not 
go. There was no sleep in that house that 
night. Sleeplessness filled it like a thick fog. 
Dickie put out his rushlight and stayed quiet 
for a little while ; but presently it was 
impossible to stay quiet another moment, so, 
very softly and carefully, he crept out and 
hid behind a tall press at the end of the 
passage. He felt that strange things were 
happening in the house, and that he must 
know what they were. Then there were 
voices below, voices coming up the stairs — 
the nurse's voice, his cousins' — and another 
voice. Where had he heard that other voice ? 
The stopped-clock feeling was thick about 
him as he realized that this was one of the 
voices he had heard on that night of the first 
magic — the voice that had said, " He is more 

3 ^lftfeimF MICHIGAN 



The light the nurse carried gleamed and 
disappeared up the second flight of stairs. 
Dickie followed. He had to follow. He 
could not be left out of this, the most 
mysterious of all the happenings that had so 
wonderfully come to him. 

He saw, when he reached the upper land- 
ing, that the others were by the window, and 
that the window was open. A keen wind 
rushed through it, and by the blown candle's 
light he could see snowflakes whirled into 
the house through the window's dark, star- 
studded square. There was whispering going 
on. He heard the words — " Here, now 

And then a little figure — Edred it must be 
— no, Elfrida — climbed up on to the window- 
ledge and jumped out— out of the third- 
floor window — undoubtedly jumped. Another 
followed it — that was Edred. 

"It is a dream," said Dickie to himself. 
" But if they've been made to jump out 
Til jump, too." 

He rushed past the nurse, past her voice 
and the other voice that was talking with 
hers, made one bound to the window, set his 
knee on it, stood up, and jumped. He heard, 
as his knee touched the icy window-sill, the 
strange voice say "Another," and then he 
was in the air, falling — falling. 

" I shall wake when I reach the ground," 
Dickie told himself, "and then I shall know 
it's only a dream — a silly dream." 

But he never reached the ground. He 
had not fallen a couple of yards before he 
was caught by something soft as heaped 
feathers or drifted snow — it moved and 
shifted under him— took shape. It was a 
chair — no— a carriage. And there were reins 
in his hand— white reins. And a horse? 
No — a swan with wide, white wings. He 
grasped the reins and guided the strange 
steed to a low swoop that should bring him 
near the flare of torches in the street outside 
the great front door. And as the swan laid 
its long neck low in the downward flight, he 
saw his cousins in a carriage like his own rise 
into the sky and sail away towards the south. 
Quite without meaning to do it, he pulled on 
the reins ; the swan rose ; he pulled again, 
and the carriage stopped at the landing 

Hands dragged him in — the old nurse's 
hands.- The swan glided away between snow 
and stars, and on the landing inside the open 
window the nurse held him fast in her arms. 

"My lamb," she said; "my dear, foolish, 
brave lamb ! " 

Dickie was pulling himself together. 

" If it's a dream," he said, slowly, " I've 
had enough. I want to wake up. If it's 
real — real, with magic in it — you've got to 
explain it all to me— every bit. I can't go 
on like this. It's not fair." 

"Oh, tell him, and have done," said the 
voice that had begun all the magic, and it 
seemed to him that something small and 
white slid along the wainscot of the corridor 
and vanished quite suddenly, just as a candle- 
flame does when you blow the candle out. 

" I will," said the nurse. " Come, love. 
I will tell you everything." She took him 
down into a warm, curtained room, blew to 
flame the grey ashes on the open hearth, gave 
him elder wine to drink, hot and spiced, and 
kneeling before him, rubbing his cold bare 
feet, she told him. 

" There are certain children born now and 
then — it does not often happen, but now and 
then it does — children who are not bound by 
time as other people are. And if the right 
bit of magic comes their way, those children 
have the power to go back and forth in time 
just as other children go back and forth in 
space — the space of a room, a playing field. 

" Sometimes it comes to them so gradually 
that they hardly know when it begins — and 
leaves them as gradually, like a dream when 
you wake and stretch yourself. Sometimes 
it comes by the saying of a charm. That is 
how Edred and Elfrida found it. They come 
from the time that you were born in, and 
they have been living in this time with you, 
and now they have gone back to their own 

Then she told him all about the white 
Mouldiwarp of Arden and how it was the 
badge of Arden's House, its picture being 
engraved on Tinkler, and how it had done 
all sorts of magic for Edred and Elfrida and 
would do still more. 

Dickie and the nurse sat most of the night 
talking by the replenished fire, for the tale 
seemed endless. Dickie learned that the 
Edred and Elfrida who belonged to his own 
times had a father who was supposed to be 
dead. " I am forbidden to help them," said 
the nurse, " but ihou canst help them, and 

" I should like that," said Dickie—" but 
can't /see the white Mouldiwarp?" 

" There are three white Mouldiwarps friends 
to thy house,"she told him ; " the Mouldiwarp 
who is the badge, and the Mouldiwarp who 
is the crest, and the great Mouldiwarp who 
sits on the green and white chequered field 
of Arden's shield of arms. It was the first 




14 And how can I find my cousins and help 
them to find their father ? " 

"Lay out the moonseeds and the other 
charms and wish to be where they are going. 
Then thou canst speak with them." 

After this he talked with the nurse every 
day and learned more and more wonders, of 
which there is no time now for me to tell you. 
But they are all written in the book of " The 
House of Arden." In that book, too, it is 
written how Dickie went back from James 
the First's time to the time of the eighth 
Henry and took part in the merry country 
life of those days, and there found the old 
nurse herself and Edred and Elfrida, and 
helped them to recover their father from a 
far country. And when all this was over, 
Elfrida and Edred wanted Dickie to come 
back with them to their own time. But he 
would not. He went back instead to the 
time he loved, when James the First 
was King. And when he woke in the little 
panelled room it seemed to him that all 
this adventure with his cousins was only 
dreams and fancies. In the course of 
this adventure he met the white Mouldi- 
warp — and it was just a white mole, very 
funny and rather self-important. The 
second Mouldiwarp he had not yet met. I 
have told you all these things very shortly 
because they were so dreamlike to Dickie, 
and not at all real, like the double life he had 
been leading. 

"That always happens, " said the nurse; 
"if you stumble into someone else's magic it 
never feels real. But if you bring them into 
yours it's quite another pair of sleeves. 
These children can't get any more magic of 
their own now, but you could take them into 
yours. Only for that you'd have to meet 
them in your own time that you were born in 
— and you'll have to wait till it's summer, 
because that's where they are now. The 
season they came out of was summer, and 
the season you'll go back to is autumn; 
so you must live the seven months in their 
time, and then it'll be summer and you will 
meet them. 

"Edred and Elfrida first went into the 
past to look for treasure. It is a treasure 
buried in Arden Castle, by the sea, which is 
their home. They want the treasure to 
restore the splendour of the old castle, which 
in your time is fallen into ruin and decay, 
and to mend the houses of the tenants, and 
to do good to the poor and needy. But 
they have used their magic to get back 
their father, and can no longer use it to look 
for treasure. But^^r magic will hold. And 

if you lay out your moonseeds round them^ in 
the old shape, and stand with them in the 
midst, holding your Tinkler and your white 
seal, you will all go whithersoever you choose." 

"I shall choose to go straight to the 
treasure, of course," said practical Dickie. 

"That thou canst not. Thou canst only 
choose some year in the past — any year — go 
into it, and then seek for the treasure there 
and then." 

" I'll do it," Dickie said, " and then I may 
come back to you, mayn't I ? " 

" If thou'rt not needed elsewhere. The 
Ardens stay where duty binds them and go 
where duty calls." 

" But I'm not an Arden there" said Dickie, 

"Thou'rt Richard Arden there as here," 
she said. "Thy grandfather's name got 
changed, by breathing hard on it, from 
Arden to Harden, and that again to Harding. 
Thus names are changed ever and again. 
And Dickie of Deptford has the honour of 
the House of Arden to uphold there as here." 

" I shall call myself Arden when I go 
back," said Dickie, proudly. 

" The time is not ripe for thee to take up 
all thine honours there," she said. "Set 
out thy moonseeds and, when thou hearest 
the voices, say, ' I would see both Mouldi- 
warps,' and shalt see them both." 

So he set out the moonseeds and said the 
words of wishing, and everything faded away 
from before his eyes in a blue-grey mist in 
which he could feel nothing solid — not even 
the ground under his feet or the touch of his 
clenched fingers against his palms. 

And out of the mist came two white moles, 
like figures on a magic-lantern sheet. They 
were very white, the Mouldiwarps, outlined 
distinctly against the grey-blueness, and the 
Mouldiwarp he had seen in that wonderful 
adventure in the far country smiled — as well 
as a mole can — and said : — 

" Thou'rt a fair sprig of de old tree, Muster 
Dickie, so 'e be," in the thick speech of the 
peasant people round about Talbot House, 
where Dickie had once been a little burglar. 

" He is indeed a worthy scion of the 
great house we serve," said the other Mouldi- 
warp, with precise and gentle utterance. " As 
Mouldierwarp to the Ardens I can but own 
that I am proud of him." 

The Mouldierwarp had, as well as a gentle 
voice, a finer nose than the Mouldiwarp ; his 
fur was more even and his claws sharper. 

M Eh ! you be a gentleman, you be," said 
the Mouidfwarp ; " so's 'e — so there's two of 

ve, 511 re en 012 

/ w > 

um % lpiji 


2 4 8 


OUT 01 tjli: MIST 

:ame two white moles, 
magic-lantern sheet. 1 ' 

It was very odd to see and hear these 
white moles talking and looking like figures 
on a magic-lantern screen. Still, one must 
always he polite, so he said : — 

" I am very glad to see you both."' 

"There's purty manners," the Mouldiwarp 

"The pleasure is ours," said the Mouldier- 
vvarp instantly. Dickie could not help seeing 
that both these odd creatures were extremely 
pleased with him. 

"When shall I see the other Mouldiwarp?" 
he asked, to keep up the conversation ; " the 
one on our shield of arms ? " 

"You mean the Mouldiestwarp? " said 
the Mouldier, as I will now call him for 
short ; "you will not see him till the end of 
the magic. He is very great. I work the 
magic of space — my brother here works the 
magic of time, and the great Mouldiestwarp 
controls us and many things besides. You 
must only call on him when you wish to end 

( To ht continued* ) 

our magics and to work a magic 
greater than ours." 

"What could he greater?' 
Dickie asked, and both creatures 
looked very gratified. 

" He is a worthier Arden than 
those little black and white chits 
of thine." the Mouldier said to 
the Mouldy (which is what, to 
.save time, we will now call the 

"An ? so should be— an' so 
should be," said the Mouldy, 
shortly. "All's for the best 
and the end's to come. Where 
d'ye want to go, my lord ?" 

" I'm not my lord, Tm only 

Richard Arden," said Dickie, 

"and 1 want to go back to Mr. Reale and 

stay with him for seven months, and then to 

find my cousins/ 1 

l< Back thou goes, then," said the Mouldy; 
" that part's easy." 

ij And for the second half of thy wish no 
magic is needed but the magic of a steadfast 
heart and the patient purpose; and these 
thou hast without any helping or giving of 
ours," said the courtly Mouldierwarp- 

They waved their white paws on the grey- 
blue curtain of mist, and behold, they were 
not* there any more, and the blue-grey mist 
was only the night's darkness turning to dawn, 
ami 1 >]■ kk was able again to feel solid things 
— and what he felt was the hard floor under 
him, his hand on the sharp edge of the table 
in the parlour of the house where he lived 
with Beale, and the soft breathing, comfort- 
able weight of True, asleep against his knee. 
He moved, the dog awoke, and Dickie felt 
its soft nose nuz/led into his hand* 

"And now for seven months' work and 
not one good dream, 13 said Dickie. Then he 
got up, put Tinkler and the seal and the 
moon seeds into a very safe place, and crept 
back to bed beside Mr. Beale. 

He felt rather heroic. He did not want 
the treasure. It was not for him. He was 
going to help Edred and Elfrida to get it 
He did not want the life at Lavender 
Terrace. He was going to help Mr. Beale 
to live it. So let him feel a little bit of a 
hero — since that was what indeed he was — 
even though, of course, all right- minded 
children are modest and humble and fully 
sensible of^their own intense unimportance, 
no matter how heroically they may happen 
to be behaving. 

Original from 

■ - 

Motoring Up Mountains. 


LL folk, with or without actual 
experience of cars, can easily 
picture how delightful motor- 
touring must be. The charm 
of the driving and of the move- 
ment, the independence, the 
widened fields of exploration opened to the 
traveller, the "free life," with all the comforts 
of civilization at call — these are considerations 
which, as they say across the Channel, " leap 
to the eye." Even when only a week or fort- 
night can be spent in this way* the wanderers 
are well rewarded in respect both of pleasure 
and health. But, of course, the dark factor in 
the programme of the short holiday tourist is 
the weather. Motoring " for pleasure" in bad 
weather is sheer waste of time, whether one 
travels in a huge covered vehicle or not, 

Now, the popular notion is that this ideal 
kind of wandering is only for millionaires and 
the like. Get rid of this stupid prejudice at 
once, reader ; lavish outlay is the very last 
thing necessary, Motor - touring can be 
enjoyed on a first-class small two- seated car 
(with ample accommodation for baggage), 
the initial cost of which will be some two 
hundred and thirty pounds, and the upkeep of 
which will not amount to sixty pounds a year. 
Such a tight car is practically immune 
from tyre troubles, is 
easily kept " tuned," 
and, being of modest 
dimensions, can always 
find some shelter 
wherever you elect to 
stop. But, above all, 
she is satisfactory in the 
mountains. Big cars in 
the Alps are by no 
means so reliable as 
might be supposed by 
those who have seen 
them scurrying in dust- 
clouds along familiar 
home highways, 

I have now, I trust, 
begun to interest the 
reader in motor-moun- 
taineering, a novel sport 
which is bound to 
attract many votaries 
ere long. The climb™ 
ing is done not by way 
of roads, but by rough 

mule - tracks and foot- 
Vol. tjumai 82, 

paths, and at times even by slopes of sheer 
grass. The motor-car of late years has been 
put to strange uses. But it will be admitted, 
I think, that this last development is the 
most unexpected of all ! 

The mountaineering car which I used last 
autumn and shall use again this year is a 
l)c Dion having one cylinder of only 4111. 
bore* but with a long stroke. It is " geared " 
lower than is usual in the case of touring 
vehicles, though not so low as to prevent us 
from enjoying it as an ordinary travelling 

This car had been piloted previously by 
M, Boutin up the mule-path which leads 
from St. Gervais (High Savoy) to the top of 
Mount Prarion, a rounded green alp, some 
six thousand feet high, which faces Mont 
Blanc at the bottom of the Chamonix Valley. 
Mule-track gradients of over thirty- five per 
cent, in places, and towards the top stretches 
of grass slope, here and there very steep, and 
difficult to negotiate without slip, had been 
surmounted. It will be gathered that I had no 
doubt as to the reliability of the car when it 
passed into my hands. My campaign opened 
in a quarter which presented difficulties 
considerably greater even than those just 
mentioned. An attempt was made to mount 

GfiffiftK^flfflcfliew l 

he A*«nt of 



At the S<*i4jjt- i!e CreVe-Coeur, 

succeeded in reaching this spot. 

sleep + with 

the Montanvert 
mule -path, the 
tortuous, rocky, 
and somewhat 
dangerous track 
which leads from 
Charnonix up to 
the world-famous 
outlook over the 
Mer de Glace. 
We succeeded in 
getting up some 
distance, but were 
baffled at last by 
rocks , having to 
descend igno- 
mmiously back- 
wards, with great 
difficulty; a narrow 

AlguiEfa de Varcns. Thi< is the trnly car which has 
1 'hough not a mule-path, the road L* extraordinarily 
long stretches of i in 3 gradient. 

forest path tilted at an 
angle which severely 
tried the brakes. The 
weather being dis- 
couraging and the Cha- 
monix season well-nigh 
over, we deferred our 
next attack till igog 
and left for Switzer- 
land, In passing Sal- 
lanches, in the Arve 
Valley, we encountered 
the hardest ordinary 
road - climb (a wood- 
man's road) which I 
have ever seen — that 
up to the Scierie de 

We we 
of s 

re very kindly entertained by these peasants 
[. Martin, near SaHancftti*, after the record 
ascent to the Scicric de Crevc-Cccur. 

\ Sua descent uf a forest path shove Vermala (*nr Montana), \ alley of 

the Khnne. hpecial permission, the fir^t ever accorded to motorist, was 

given for this journey. The gradient is 1 in a| to 1 in s|. 

Creve-Coeur, in the heart of 
the Aiguille de Varens. The 
climb — which has baffled 
numerous venturesome cars, 
great and small — is about five 
miles in length, and includes 
many bits of gradient of one 
in three, A letter from the 
Mayor of St Martin attests the 
facts. Not to dwell on numer- 
ous ascents in little - known 
places, I will refer briefly to 
some interesting " first climbs " 
which we were enabled to effect, 
thanks to the courtesy of the 
Council of State of the Canton 
du Valais, Term its were given 
for the climbing of the Grimsel 
and Furka passes via Brjgue, 
Munster, and Gletsch ; for runs 
to Vermala and Montana (the 
well-known winter resort) from 
Sterre ; for the "course J? Mar- 
OffiflrraPfibrfte la FotcUw— 
UNIVEBlW^ICmrflr difficuIt 



One of out jaunts at Chdttnu d\Ex, Pnyw d en Haut, SwitKrlancL Tbe 
descent from the Ch'ilet le Clftt. 

serpentine path to Finhaut and Sal van, and 
thence down by fifty four steep curves {Col 
de Vernayaz) into the Rhone Valley ; and for 
the first crossing, via Monthey and Margins, 
into the (French) Val d'A bo n dance — the 
last-named, however, quite an easy excursion, 
which no motorist should be forbidden to 

What happens, it will he asked, when the 
car's advance is stopped by a rock which 
cannot be jumped? Supposing, for instance, 
one does not " declutch "—*>♦, disconnect 
the engine and main shaft — does tbe motor 
stop? Not a bit of it. The power 
of the long-stroke motor is such that 
the driving tyres, armoured though 
they are, spin fiercely without propel- 
ling the car* This spinning takes 
place frequently on grass. On one 
occasion, when mounting a most diffi- 
cult path in the Pays d'en Haut, 
Vaud, we came upon a patch of moist 
turf, the tip of the gradient being 
extreme. As soon as the back wheels, 
which had already been slipping and 
getting us up by fits and starts } 
reached the turf the car stopped, and 
two streams of grass and soft soil 
were shot out behind us* Yet those 
wheels had been liberally roped ! I 
descended the path backwards twice, 
attacking the grass patch with what 
mild rush was possible on the low 
gear, but failed badly. 

The photographs which illustrate 
the text show effectively where the 
modern motor-car can go and spare 
me the necessity of multiplying 

accounts of climbs in 
places which, for many 
readers, must be mere 
names. This article, more- 
over, must be regarded as 
introductory chat, and will 
be followed, I trust, by 
a contribution on much 
more concrete and real- 
istic lines anon, I have 
not yet acknowledged 
defeat in tbe matter of the 
M on tan vert climb, and 
hope to submit later a 
detailed and fully illustra- 
ted account of how this 
and some equally for- 
midable ascents have 
been dealt with. At 
Chamonix it is not believed that the 
ascent of the Montanvert mule - path is 
practicable — not even with the well -tried 
De Dion mountaineering car under one — 
and last year the mayor jestingly observed 
that, if any motorist ever succeeded in 
getting up, a statue would have to be 
erected in honour of the event ! Well, I 
must allow that the prophets are not en- 
couraging. Still, w T here there is no difficulty 
nor uncertainty there is no sport, and I, for 
one, do not regard the view of the Chamo- 
niard folk as decisive. 





up a very steep Swiss mountain-path, Chateau dXEx, Vaud, 
Notice (be roped back wheel of tbe car. 

Original from 


[Wt shall be glad to receive Contributions (o (his sfffiatt, and to pay for such as are accepted,] 
Copyright, 1909, by GeorE* N twite*., Limited, 


IN the low country in Ceylon millions of 
butterflies settle along the rood in 
damp places, ami when a motor car pusses 
ihey are killed in thousands. This photo- 
graph shows the radiator of a car covered 
with butterflies, which prevented the air 
from cooling the engines, and necessitated 
[he car being frequently stopped to remote 
the obstruction, — Miss IJ. J. Fairlie, 2, 
University Gardens, Glasgow. 


TI I E extremes of which Nature is capable 
could hardly fie butter shown than 
in the following ph olograph. The Eng- 
lishman looking with such admiration at 

the splendid specimen of humanity at his side 
is himself five feet eight inches in height, so that the 
proportions of the two native* may be readily gauged* 
—Supplied by Messrs. Gallieiim and Gasijuuine, iSS, 


ONE of the oddest sights imaginable is that of 
little thirteen year-old Ralph J, Kidemiller, of 
55, East Walnut Street t Pasaden a, California, riding his 
bicycle up and down the crowded business thorough- 
fares, with a. gre>n, dignified Plymouih Rock rooster 
rid i tig contentedly behind him, u,uite unafraid of noises 
and eh>g* and people, and seeming to enjoy his ride as 
much as the boy* Whenever they stop, an interested 

crowd surrounds them* Then Sanjmy, the rooster, 
is put l h rough his tricks, and smartly he does them 
too, proving that he has a good thinking apparatus, 
or perhaps scientists would call it '* instinct.' When 
his 111 tie master says, i( Sammy, jump down," he hops 
from his bicycle platform to the pavement* When 
told to crow, he straightens up proudly and crows 
as enthusiastically as if waiting for breakfast in 
his grandfather's farmyard, lie will jump tiack on 
the platform when told to do so T and will also climb 
the rounds of a ladder. 1 1 is proud owner trained 
him at home, just for amusement, find then conceived 
the idea of exhibiting him on the streets for profit. 
His father made some postcard photographs of Sammy 
and the boy* and now, when they stop on the st reels, 
he sells these postcards like "hot cakes." — Helen 
Luke ns Gam, 182, East Walnut Street, Pasadena, 
California, U.S.A. 




SOME months ago the inhabitants of the town of 
Motherwell were startled hy reports of an ash 
tree which glowed in the Hark. The tree was visited 
by thousands, who hacked it about until hardly a root 
was left. The piece of wood shown in the first of 
the accompanying photographs formed part of the 
trunk of the tree. The whole surface gave out 
a peculiar greenish incandescent light, this being 
more marked at three areas on its surface. A 
newspaper could be read quite easily at a distance 
of a few feet, The lower photograph shows a 

could only obtain access to this warehouse between 
the hours of eight ami. and she p.m + , and his perse- 
vera nee is to be admired when one reads the following 
list of articles of which this remarkable nest was 
made ; Thirty mine pieces of bone of various kinds, 
one silver Indian toe ring, three milk- tin lids, five 
oLher pieces of tin of various sorts, fuur teaspoons, 
two dessert spoons, one fork, one large ostrich plume, 
eleven feet six inches of hoop iron in short lengths, 
and twenty -six feet of wire of various gauges and 
igths, — Mr. A- S. CaUellj 60, Bentinck Street, 
Calcutta, India, 


** W T^TKK, ^ater everywhere, but not a drop to 
V V drink 3 " is so often the cry of the aggrieved 
householder during the period of frosts and snows 
and the bursting of pipes that the inhabitants of the 
village of Northaw, Herts, have formed themselves into 
an unofficial (l Society for the prevention of cruelly to 
inanimate things, 'and have dealt with the village pump 
in the drastic manner here shuwn. — Mr. M. O. Stott, 
The Corner, I'evensey Bay, Sussex, 

microscopic section of one of the 
areas mentioned, magnified three 
hundred times. The filaments of 
a fungus, name unknown, which 
was the cause of the light are seen 
within the vessels of the tree in 
cross and longitudinal section.— 
Dr. W, J* Me Feat, Calderview, 


THE freaks of the wily crow in 
Calcutta are constant and 
varied, and the photograph I send 
of a crow*s nest may prove of 
some interest to your readers. It* 
was constructed in the top of an 
inverted k-atable, which had been 
stowed away in a large furniture 
warehouse in Calcutta* The crow 



piece of candle ! Nothing 1 hut foxglove flowers and buds went 
to compose the "Girls' School." As can be readily seen, the 
bonnets of the young ladies and the tracher are fitted on 
through small holes to the upper pan of fully -expanded 
blossoms.— Mr. S. Leonard Bast in, Lynd hurst, Hants. 


BY covering up the wira^s and body of the 
fruit bat shown in this photograph, so as 
to leave only the head visible, one might rradily 
believe it to be the head of a dog, the deniition 
giving futther colour to such belief, — Ml \\ J. 
Pillock, Restholme, Palmer's Green, N. 


N presenting the portrait of Miss Rose Bud one 
should, perhaps, utter apologies to the popular 


THIS photograph of a friend standing up to his 
neck in water may induce some of your photo- 
graphic readers lo try their hand at this form of 
portraiture. The distortion caused by the light 
striking the water is more curious than beautiful, 
and may prevent under -water portraits from ever 
becoming popular — at least, among the fair sex* — 
Mr. Montague Troup, <.\-il:\rs Mansions, West Ken- 


IT is, perhaps, impossible to say definitely how 
many mistakes are shown in the photograph of 
the imitation clock published in the last number* 
The following is a list of seven, but, of course, there 
may be others : I* Seventy- two instead of sixty 
minutes. 2. IV, should be 1 1 II. 3. Hour hand 
should be nearer to I ft I. according to lime =5 twenty 
to four. 4. No minutes dial at bollom (the top small 
dial is to "set" alarm), v Hour hand should be 
tipped at end, and minute hand thin and straight. 
6. No legs for clock to stand upon. 7. Inner circle 
below hour figures is not necessary,- Mr, S, M* 
Jones, Fair View, 2, Kthel Road, Seacoml>e, Cheshire* 

actresses of the day, The 
dainty little lady was formed 
entirely of rose ; a full -Mown 
flower provided the where- 
withal for the short, hilt 
skirl } whilst buds of different 
sizes entered into the com- 
position of the body and head. 
Material for the arms and legs 
was found in the stalks of ihe 
plant The pedoial on which 
the beauty posed was simply a 

Uffl¥ffi OTY0r'MTCH1G».W' 




THE above drawing by George Cruikshank, and the 
accompanying verses, taken front ** The Comic Almanack ' T 
for 1S43, show that the subject of airships and their possibilities 
WS4 4 popular one more than sixly years ago. For ihe nppor- 
tunitv uf reproducing this curious old print we are indebted to 
Mr, [. Slorrs Fry. 


"Whoa for the excursion round the ni»>n : 

Here's the "Original Fly ^a]lOQn. k,, 

M 1 - it this that calls 

At the top of St. Paul's, 
Where I'm "o take up my wife and babby! 1 " 

11 No, sir, it's not outs; 

We only touch at the lowers 
Of We si minster Abbey." 

We ^top at the Great Bear 

To take in air ; 
Then at once 1 without waiting at all, wc fly on, 

In hopes of bein£ in tune to hear 

Some uf ihe music of the sphere, 
Accompanied by the hand of Orion. 
What a funny senis-uion it is the clouds to enter 3 

OU n don't you know the reason why 

You feel rather coiT-ic when up in the *<ky? 
*Tis caused by your dUc.i:u:e from gravity's centre. 

But here's the Zodiac, where we dine, 

The Hut I or the 1-ioti is the sign ; 

To Stop at Aquarius does not answer, 

But we call to-day at the Crab, if *r Can-sir. 

Here s a lawyer wants to be starting soon 

To watch the aciion of ihe moon ; 

A barf liter wishes much lo know 

If a place 11 vacant r that he may go 

To study the laws of the stars' rotation, 

With them kc«p pace 
As they roll through space , 
And join their circuit in the long vacation. 

The day of railways will be oer, 

And steam will lie esteem'd no more, 

When the result is seen 

Of the experiment of Mr. Green, 

Who says he can, as a mailer of course, 

In a balloon the Atlantic cross. 

And 3 by way of proving he can, 

He shows us a part of his plan, 

Which locked 1 in miniature, very neat, 

At ihe Polytechnic in Regent Street, 

And answered, the truth to tell. 

Uncommonly well 

As far as it went ; bui, ihe fact to say, 

It w^nt but a very little way, 

No one could doubt the success of the notion. 

If Hanover Square 

One might compare 
To the wide Atlantic Ocean- 
It's a very 111 ie iliing 
To lake hold of a string, 
Attached to a prctly toy luilioon, 

Guiding it easily eh her way, 

And undertaking to say, 
The Atlantic may be traversed soon 

By similar m«".;ins; 
Which will be credited by men 

When all the world are Greens:* 
But not till then ! 

T>ELOW is a photograph of our floating 
J3 post-office, which shows the way in 
which we post our letters when passing 
convenient places* I have posted letters in 
this way several limes when passing San I a 
Cniz* TencriflTe, and have met wilh success 
each lime. The water-tight lin contains 
ihe bag of le Iters all stamped wilh English 
stamps and sealed up, to which is attached 
a note with a donation fur the finder. The 
tin is secured to a raft and dropped uver- 
hoard, care being taken lo drop the raft flat 
on ihe water, so as to keep the flag Hying, 
in order to attract attention. 1 1 will he 
noticed that the line attached to the four 
corners of the raft is lied in the hand of 
the man on the left of the picture. There 
were ninety letters posted to variuus parts 
of the world in our last floating post- 
office* — Mr. A. E, Dunn, Chief nicer, 




THERE can be few more successful examples of 
the art of tattooing than ihe portrait of King 
Edward here shown. The work, as will l*e seen, has 
been done on the skull, and the design was cartied 
oui in twelve hours by Mr t George BurchetL — Mr- 
Massa W. M and oo, 


I^O gratify the death- bed whim of his father, Dr. 
Walter Q, Blaisdell, of E'unxsuiawney, Pa., had 
shipped from Maine, to the cemetery in McDonough 
County, Illinois, a huge granite boulder which has 
been placed at the head of his parents grave in 
obedience to his List request Chiselled on it is the 
Single word *< Blaisdelh Around this flinty relic of 
the glacial era (hire clusters a story of filial duty well 
performed and of age recalling the fond memories of 
youth, The elder Blaisdell, who was a pioneer 
practitioner of Central Illinois, was stricken with 
illness and sent for his son from Pennsylvania. 
When the latter realized tliat his father was on his 

death-bed, he asked him if he had any last request to 
make. The parent replied that his' mind continu- 
ally dwelt upon the scenes of his childhood, and 
especially about a granite boulder which lay on his 
fathers farm in .Maine, This boulder was the 
centre of his playground when a buy. He felt 
that he could rest in peace if Ins son would find 
that boulder and place it over his g*ave + The son 
solemnly promised to comply, and, when the end 
cane, hastened I jack to Maine in search of the 
boulder. He found it just where his parent had told 
htm it was lying. A flat car was chart ejed and it 
was shipped West. Without ceremony Hhe stone was 
placed at the head of the elder BlaisdtU's grave; and 
there it promises to lie for all time, recalling apathetic 
story of age reverting to the golden memories of youth 
when the shadows commenced to fall.— Mr. it E* 
Piersoa, Bloom tngton, Ilk, U.SrA- 


THE native servants of one of the hotels here have 
found a novel use for an aloe by utilizing it to 
dry clothes on. As a rule, ihe spikes of the aloe go 
right through, making a large hole in .every dinner 
napkin, duster, etc. —Mrs. Theodora l'urefoy Robin- 
son, Sl George's, Bermuda. 


I ASKED a friend a short time back how many 
ancestors he had in the direct line twenty 
generations tmck. After a minute's reflection he 
suggested fifty. It may be a little surprising and of 
interest to some of your readers to learn that they 
each have had more than a million ancestors within 
comparatively recent years, and that without taking 
into account uncles and aunts. Starting with one's 
parents, each person usually has two, a fit her and a 
mother* The father had his two parents and the 
mother had hers. Thus each person has four grand- 
parents. One step farther and we have eight great- 
grandparents, I know a case within living memory 
where a man had four great -grand pa rents all living. 
A simple calculation gives the astonishing result that 
our lineal ancestors during twenty generations numbe 
no fewer than 1,048,576* as shown below, or sufficient 
people if all living to populate the whole of Wales. 

isr Generation 





and „ 



■ 1 


y* m 



■ • 






J6 fj 34 

5th , t 




3 2 l7 63 

'ill: t , 



1 1 




3 7[h 



Sih „ 




26 j, 144 

9th „ 
10th 1T 

■ --1 



-Mr. B. Q.XilL 



eu Eaton .#.] 





HERE have been many 
interesting reminders of the 
progress and promise of 
Queensland of late; and that 
country of magnificent dis- 
tances, salubrious climate, and 

surpassing resources is being much talked 

about. It is the youngest State of the 

Australian Commonwealth, not having been 

granted a separate Constitution until 1859, 

in the December of which year Sir George 

Bowen, the first Governor, assumed his 

official duties at Brisbane, 

An interesting reference to this was made 

the other day by Sir Horace Tozer, K.C. M.G., 

Agent-General for the 

State, in a speech 

delivered on the occa- 
sion of the opening of 

the new Queensland 

Government offices in 

the Strand, London. 

Sir Horace pointed 

out that it was not 

until the arrival of Sir 

George Bowen that 

Queensland really 

started business on 

her own account, 

Prior to 1859 this 

great territory had 

formed a portion of 

the Mother State of 

New South Wales, 

and had been known 

as the Moreton Bay 

District, and in the 



4^E& ljf7- -V^ ■ ■ 1 In ' IS9 

5 #3 km ^^^^'*mmmW' J JFWU 

v^^mo^v -i» - r r r ■ a i 

HHK t 

^P^**¥^ J ", k . J^m\^I^m] 

. ^,-w— iuL-^imHfliJ 

fifty years that have since come and gone 
Queensland has achieved a record of which 
her people have just reason to be proud. 

When the first Queensland Legislative 
Assembly began its sittings, the population 
of the State did noi exceed 25,000, counting 
children ; and th« estate given over to the 
rule of this handful of people was 670,500 
square miles in extent — a country large 
enough to contain France, Germany, and 
Austria- Hungary, and still leave room enough 
to accommodate Holland. This area repre- 
sented nearly 27 square miles to each person, 
young and old. 

But those 25,000 pioneers were of hardy 
British stock, pos- 
sessed of the true 
colonizing spirit, and 
were content to 
labour and look 
ahead, conscious of 
inhabiting a land of 
boundless, though 
then in a large 
measure unknown, 
resources, The 
pioneers were for the 
most part engaged in 
grazing cattle and 
sheep ; agriculture in 
its higher meaning — 
the cultivation of the 
s o i 1 — n o t being 
seriously altem pted. 
"It was more a ques- 
tion of wool, tallow, 



uanana grove, near BRISBANE, mand other products 




of cattle and sheep," says Sir Horace Tozer, 
"than of anything else, with gold mining just 
beginning. Farming, such as is known in this 
country, wa.s despised, and referring to the 
splendid wheat lands of the Darling Downs, 
on which now waves the golden grain, the 
pasturalists used to say, * The land won't 
grow a cabbage' ! n 

It seems amazing to us in these days that 
the early settlers, not only in Queensland but 
in other parts of Australia, and even in 
Canada, should have made such mistakes 
of judgment. They saw long stretches of 
country, and did not probe the soil to see 
what lay underneath* 

In this way millions of acres of hidden 
fertility, only awaiting a proper turning to 
account, were suffered to run to waste. But 
little by little there came an awakening to 
the real condition of things, and to-day a 
retiring Governor of the State (Lord North- 
cote), in laying down office, is able to say, 
11 There is no State in the Commonwealth 
which exceeds, even if it equals, the enormous 

shows, it is this that enables the State to 
offer such excellent security to bondholders 
and to invite settlers to engage in the indus- 
tries of the temperate and tropic zones in 
whatever manner they desire. They can work 
a dairy-farm and a vineyard on the Darling 
Downs, graze sheep and cattle, mine for gold 
or copper, obtain opals and sapphires from 
the deposits in the west, grow sugar-cane 
and tropical fruits from Bundaberg to Cook- 
town, or, if inclined to go to the far north, 
they can take up pearl-shelling in Torres 
Straits, among the reefs and islands of 
those wondrous seas. Dugong- fishing may 
be carried on profitably in various places off 
the coast, and beche-de-mer gathering on the 
Great Barrier Reef. All these industries can 
he worked profitably, and beautiful homes 
can be established in a climate which con- 
stitutes Queensland a winter paradise. 

From the time of Queensland becoming a 
self governing State its opening up proceeded 
rapidly. Within a year the 25,000 popula- 
tion grew to 28,000. In 1859 there were no 


KG kilt-: HTKKM\ HklsBANE. 

variety of resources and potentialities of 
wealth possessed by Queensland/' 

It is, indeed, the variety of the oppor- 
tunities offered by this State that renders it 
so desirable a country for the right class of 
men to settle in. As the Agent-General 

railways and outside of Brisbane and Ipswich 
there was not a mile of made road in the 
colony — nothing but bush tracks, or per- 
haps only a marked-tree line to guide the 
traveller. At the present time Queensland 
has a population of nearly 560,000, and 




3,560 miles of State-owned railways. Then, 
as regards the utilization of the land, the 
revolution has been marvellous. It is still 
a great pastoral country, more than half its 
whole territory being even now, in some way 

land had not more than 3,353 acres under 
crop j whereas to-day there are some 600,000 
acres under cultivation. The range of pro- 
duction is very wide* Wheat is grown chiefly 
in the Darling Downs and in the more 



or other, connected with the handling 01 
sheep, wool, and cattle. In i860 Queens- 
land produced 5, 000, 000 lb, of wool and 
possessed 3,449,350 sheep ; in 1907 the wool 
produce was 77,860,948^. and the number 
of sheep 15,428,902. 

As regards cattle-grazing, in spite of fluctu- 
ations and lean years, the general advance 
has been no less remarkable. In i860 the 
Stale held 432,890 head of cattle, while 
Victoria had nearly twice as many, and 
New South Wales nearly six times the 
number Rut year hy year Queensland has 
increased her herds } and for upwards of a 
quarter of a century has now been the leading 
cattle State of Australia ; and to-day has 
some 4, 000,000 head, upwards of a million 
in excess of New South Wales, which holds 
the second place in this industry, with 
Victoria a good third. In i860 Queensland 
exported 640 tons of tallow ; while the value 
of her export under this head in 1907 was 

i>35 + H2 4 . 

In later years, however, agriculture has 
established itself in all parts of the State- 
All kinds of cereals and fruits are now 
produced in abundance. In i860 Queens- 

Digitized by K* 

western Maranoa district, the average yield 
for the past twenty years being 1372 bushels 
pet acre, 

Maize> which is the farmer's standby and 
his first crop, can be grown practically all 
over the State* two crops a year being yielded 
in the sub-tropical and coastal districts. Over 
127,000 acres are now under this crop, and 
the yield averages 24'34 bushels to the acre. 
Barley is also grown to a fair extent; 
pumpkins and melons flourish in abundance 

Dairying is also a great Queensland 
industry. The progress made in this direc- 
tion is strikingly evidenced in the fact that 
sixteen years ago the State had to import 
781,4221b. of butter; while in 1907 it not 
only supplied all its own wants, but exported 
14,076,897!^, the total butter production 
being nearly 53,000,0001b., and there are 
over 13,000 establishments up and down 
the State concerned in the handling of milk, 
cream, and butter. 

Fruit-production in Queensland is an easy 
matter, and in some directions is a very 
profitable commercial proposition. Bananas, 
pineapples^ oranges, a^d grapes all do well. 




Wales. In recent years, the conditions of 
production and handling having greatly 
changed, a protective tariff against foreign 
sugars secured the Australian markets to the 
home producers, and this has meant a good 
deal to the Queensland sugar- growers, giving 
them a population of over four millions to 
cater for instead of only half a million. 

The coloured labour question is gradually 
being settled by a Government bonus on 
cane grown solely by white labour. In 1907 
the product of white-grown sugar amounted 
to 162,480 tons, while sugar grown by black 
or alien labour did not reach more than 
25,827 tons. 

Turning for a moment to the record of the 
mineral wealth of Queensland, we touch the 
solid fact that the State has yielded a total 
gold output of the value of ^66,314,528, the 
amount for 1907 being ^1,978,938. The 
chief centres of gold production are Charters 
Towers, Gympie, Mount Morgan, Ravens- 
wood, Croydon, Hodgkin&on, and Palmer 
Great hopes are entertained of the Etheridge 
district when it becomes further developed. 
In recent years there has been a slight falling 
off in the returns from the Queensland gold- 
fields, but this has been more than made up 
by the increase in the yield of other minerals, 
there having been an output in 1907 of the 
value of ^2, 153,266 m minerals other than 
gold. Silver figures in the returns to the 
amount of ,£112,540; lead, £75,33* '> 
copper, ,£1,028,179 i coal » ,£222,135; and 
tin, jQa9&* 766* Tin smelting, by the way, is 
becoming quite an important industry, and 
is being carried on under very favourable 

As to the general physical features of 
Queensland, its climatic advantages, and its 
attractions from the settler's point of view, 
the difficulty is to know where to begin and 
when to end* With a coast line of from 
2,000 to 3,000 miles in extent; with three 


The banana crop amounts to over a million 
and a half bunches, the produce of about 
five thousand acres, lying mostly on the rich 
alluvial coastal lands of North Queensland, 
within the tropical belt Pineapples are 
grown in great abundance and of fine quality, 
both in the south and the north ; while 
in the respective tropical, subtropical, and 
temperate regions the fruits proper to such 
sections are grown well. The list is em- 
barrassingly long and varied, including, in 
addition to the fruits already named, 
apples, pears, plums> apricots, 
lemons f peaches, paw-paws, passion 
fruit, mangoes, and many others. 

There is another industry that has 
made great headway in Queensland 
— that of the sugar cane. The only 
other State of the Commonwealth 
that grows this article of commerce 
is New South Wales, but Queensland 
has from the first taken the lead 
in this industry, being now respon- 
sible for a yearly produce of some 
1,750,000 tons, as against about 
230,000 tons yielded in New South tin^melting works at '9ffgiPWW¥oW^ TH Queensland. 




separate and distinct climates — a coastal 
climate of moderate and even temperature, a 
western climate of wider extremes of heat 
and cold, and the interior climate, where 
these conditions are intensified ; and with far- 
extending mountain ranges and a wonderful 
series of rivers coursing through picturesque 
valleys from the hill regions to the ocean, the 
natural aspects are too varied to admit of any 
generalized description, 

That Queensland is a healthy country to 
live in is shown by the fact that its death- 
rate is only 9*56, one of the two lowest in the 
world, 4t Clreat in area, vast in resources, 
highly favoured in climate/' writes Mr. R, 
Sanderson Taylor, u she has all the elements 
essential to the existence of a prosperous State, 
capable of sustaining in health and content- 
ment, under conditions impossible in most 
other countries, millions of British people.*' 

The inducements, indeed, to British 
settlers ate many, It is a fine, healthy 
life that the State has to offer, and the con- 
ditions under which land can be obtained 
are most favourable. As to the class of 
settlers required, the authority just quoted 
says the most likely are those who possess 
a small capital, or men who will first 
have to work for others* " For men who 
have the command of moderately large 
sums there are profitable avenues for invest- 
ment in sheep and cattle stations, farming 
and dairying on a large scale, city and 
country properties, mining and timber- get- 
ting, and the secondary industries* The 
small capitalist — the man with, say, ^150 
or ^zoo, and the more valuable asset of a 
stout heart and a strong constitution — may 
make a start in a small way as a dairy-farmer, 
a fruit-grower, or a market gardener. 

Every emigrant is entitled to take up 
163 acres of land for nothing, provided he is 
prepared to settle upon it and make his home 


there* the more accessible lands near lines of 
railways, centres of population, and navigable 
waters being set apart for agricultural selection. 
The latest returns demonstrate that, under 
the various forms of land tenure existing in 
Queensland, within three months over 
1,500,000 acres of agricultural land were 
selected. There is also free education as 
well as free land, and the conditions altogether 
are in harmony with British sentiment, modes 
of life, and aspirations. 


x* by Google 


Original from 

Conquering the Rocky Mountains. 


HE railway administrator was 
in his office A new trans- 
it continental railway— the thin 
bond of steel to link the 
activities of the Atlantic with 
those of the Parific; seaboard 
was being planned. Scattered round him on 
every side was a maze of papers and drawings, 
These were page? of figures ; huge sheets 
covered with a labyrinth of designs. Here 
was a sectional profile through a heavy, 
mountainous region which threatened to 
dispute the path of the annihilator of time 
and space, showing every [)eak, irrespective 
of whether it was a mere hump or a jagged 
head resting in the region of eternal snow ; 
there a plan indicating every inch of the 
country traversed, recording embankments, 
depressions, rivers, brooks, bog land, or forest 
— in short, a geometrical photograph of the 

To the man in the street they were so 
much Greek, but to this controlling spirit of 
the enterprise they brought a district 2,000 
odd miles away to his desk, and far more 
vividly than the most elaborate representa- 
tions of the photographer's art. Mentally he 
was travelling over every inch of the ground, 
grasping the topography of the country as 
easily as if he were treading it afoot. 

That railway administrator was Mr. Charles 


M. Hays, the controlling force of the Grand 
Trunk Railway of Canada* That trans 
continental railway was the A 11- Red line 
through the Dominion which the enterprising 
citizens of British North America have 
pledged themselves to carry through to 
finality, come what may, and which to-day is 
within easy reach of realization* The plans 
were those prepared by the army of surveyors 
who for three years had been buried in the 
heart of the frowning, majestic Rocky Moun- 
tains, braving untold perils and suffering 
inconceivable privations, in the quest for the 
easiest path through that broken barrier for 
the Grand Trunk Pacific Railway. 

"We must get through the Rockies at less 
than a two per cent, grade. That's the limit- 
Find that route, The more you can reduce 
the climb the better." 

That was the last injunction that had been 
uttered by the railway administrator when 
the small army of surveyors— the best that 
could be found by Mr. Hays, and for which 
he had scoured five continents— left Montreal 
for the West 

You figure it out. Two per cent, through 
the Rockies, That means for every 100ft. 
you go forward you must not rise more than 
2ft. — a maximum climb of only 105 6ft. to 
the mile. You recall that the Rockies have 
unenviable reputation, owing to their 
broken, rugged character ; 
that Nature was unduly 
playful when she moulded 
this part of the American 
continent and left her work 
badly finished ; remember 
the terrors they have pre- 
sented to engineers in the 
past To get through with 
such a low grade as 2 per 
cent appeared an impos- 
sible task. 

You reflect- The rival 
Canadian iron artery from 
east to west attempted a 
2 per cent, maximum, but, 
finally, could not get through 
with a rise of less than 237ft* 
to the mile on the eastward 
and 116ft, to the mile on 
the westward run, while not 

>rrJWiaPfrofr e ,P* *** 



^jljre of the 




United States could tap Pacific's golden 
shores at less than 116ft. to the mile. 

Yet that little band of engineers set out 
10 subjugate that range at a more northern 
latitude than had ever been attempted 
before. Little was known concerning the 
country through which the new line was 10 
pass. It was a pioneer enterprise, but those 
engineers were infused with Mr, Hays's 
resolve to build an up-to-date railway— the 
largest undertaking of its type ever con- 
ceived as a concrete whole — -where the 
modern heavy trains could rattle through 
the mountains at the same speed as they 
rush over the gal loping -grounds on the 

For three years they continuously toiled 
among the crags, snow-clad peaks, canyons — 
mere cracks in the earth — and rushing 
torrents of the Rockies. They scaled tower- 
ing combing cliffs rising sheer os a plumb- 
line from the depths of the ravines, swung in 
mid-air at the ends of frail ropes lowered over 
precipices, crept along narrow ledges which 
scarcely offered foothold to a mountain gout, 
crawled gingerly around bluffs upon wooden 
logs slung from chains hung like pictures 
upon iron spikes driven into the granitic 
walls of the giant peaks, and which swayed so 
ominously with every step that certain death 

appeared inevitable in the yawning gulch 
below ; clambered over jagged boulders ■ 
splinters torn from the mountain flanks by 
the elements during the passage of centuries 
— paddled in frail canoes amid the turbulent 
rapids of the raging torrents, defied physical 
fatigue, laughed at wind and weather, and 
suffered the tearing pangs of hunger — all to 
plot the path of that 2 per cent, grade railway. 

This scouting army exhaustively explored 
every foot of ground, traversed and re- 
traversed times out of number over a round 
dozen different passes, including those of the 
Peace River, l J ine, Wapiti, and the famous 

It was a grim battle with Nature in her 
sternest mood, The magnitude of the fight 
was from time to time vividly brought home 
to those promoting the enterprise by the 
sad intelligence of disaster which had over- 
whelmed these engineering outposts. A 
rolling avalanche, a thundering landslide, a 
missed footing on the edge of a precipice, 
a slip in the staling of a cliff, the upset of a 
barque in a foaming torrent, floods— all con- 
tributed to the sad story of accident to limb, 
and tore gaps in the ranks of the little band. 
But engineering science was destined to 
triumph, and 3t last the engineers returned 

to iltefelTTO^M^W 10 ^ rL ' cords of 



their work in the mass of plans, maps, and 
reams of calculation. 

"Can you take a line through the Rockies 
at two per cent. ?" I asked one of the 

"Certainly. We have got out the plans, 
and here they are," he proudly replied, as he 
pointed to a Imge roll under his arm. 

That was before the final decision as to 
route was made. The surveyors had carried 
out their work so thoroughly that they 
brought back a round 
dozen alternative 
paths for that line 
each of which pos- 
sessed its distinctive 
advantages. To con- 
sider these minutely 
occupied time, for it 
was no light matter 
to settle which one 
should be adopted. 
The responsibility was 
grave, and might re- 
flect seriously upon 
the fortunes of the 
railway in the course 
of a few years. 

But Mr, Hays is 
the right man in the 
right place. Pro- 
longed experience in 
the railway school of 
the United States, 
where the struggle for 
supremacy among the 
railways is keen, com- 
bined with his innate 
capacity, enabled him 
to grasp the situation 
firmly and to under- 
take a bold move with unswerving courage. 

" This railway is not being built for to-day. 
A two per cent grade would do for that. 
Hut we must think of to-morrow. The level 
line wins. We'll get to the Pacific through 
the Yellowhead Pass/' 

The decision was keenly criticized, but 
upon reflection it was seen that in this move 
the railway organizer had seized the strate- 
gical point through the Rockies. He was 
going to force his way through that terrible 
barrier at a lower altitude than it had ever be- 
fore been crossed by the iron road, and would, 
moreover, have only one summit to negotiate, 
This altitude is 3,712ft, and is approached 
on the eastern side by a rise of only 21ft. to 
the mile, and on the western slopes by z6ft. 



to the mile. He had stipulated for a 
maximum grade of 2 per cent. His engineers 
had found him a route which only gave a 
maximum of four- tenths of 1 per cent. 

What does this mean? Simply that the 
line will traverse the mountains with no 
heavier banks than are encountered on the 
prairie stretches. There will be no points 
on this line where extra locomotives have to 
be kept waiting night and day ready to give 
a push and pull to help a train over a hill. 

True, it is a task 
that eats up money 
in construction, does 
threading the moun- 
tains at such a low 
grade as this, but, 
as Mr, Hays signifi- 
cantly explained to 
his detractors, "The 
line could be built 
for half the money ; 
that I'll admit But 
whereas the economy 
if you are going to 
blow away the half 
you save in construc- 
tion in belching parti- 
ally - consumed fuel 
from the funnels of 
teams of locomotives 
in helping you over 
a bank? Recon- 
struction would 
have to be carried 
out sooner or later, 
and that would be 
twice or thrice as 
expensive as building 
it properly in the first 

Never was a statement more fully sub- 
stantiated. It is reconstruction that eats up 
money, as experience is now proving, for to 
undertake such work upon a patchwork basis 
is not conducive to economy. 

"The level line wins" has always been 
Mr, Hays's battle-cry, and events justify his 
attitude* It was this policy by which he 
lifted the Grand Trunk Railway from bank- 
ruptcy to its present unassailable position, 
and it is the policy which will make the 
Grand Trunk Pacific the great high-road from 
Great Britain to the East and the Antipodes, 
achieved by a successful grapple with a 
difficulty which has hitherto proved insur- 
mountable. Such a conquest is not merely 
remarkable— it is monumental. 
Original fronn 


Canada's Sunny Land of Vine and Peach Tree. 



OU hadn't thought of vineyards 
and peach orchards in connec- 
tion with Canada? The idea 
of snow-shoes and dog sleds 
and ice-palaces and "Our Lady 
of the Snows" still clings. 
Well, theories can best be crowded out by 

It is a fact that there are over 3,000,000 
grape-vines on the north shore of Lake Erie 
in the Province of Ontario, which in one year 
produced 23,156,4781b, of grapes, a con- 
siderable portion of which was used in the 
manufacture of wine 

It is a fact that this same beautiful shore- 
line boasts 500,000 peach trees. And with 
the peaches and grapes grow apricots, quinces, 
plums, sweet cherries and sour. It is a 
second sunny Mediterranean. 

A line of latitude followed round the 
world is a great illuminator. Take down an 
atlas and note that, while Canada extends 
far within the Arctic Circle to the north, her 
southern boundaries in this part of the Pro- 
vince of Ontario that we are looking at drop 
down below the parallel of 42deg. 

Windsor (Ontario) surrounded by its grape- 
vines and peach- 
orchards is only 
twenty - five miles 
farther north than 
Rome, while Niagara 
Falls and Hamilton 
drop nearer the Equa- 
tor than Nice, Pelee 
Island in Lake Erie, 
where Ontario grows 
those world - famed 
grapes of hers, is on a 
line with the northern 
boundary of Califor- 
nia, People in the 
Mother Land are be- 
ginning to recognize 
Canada as John Bull's 
Bread - Basket ; they 
have yet to realize that 

for hundreds of square miles in Canada pears, 
peaches, and grapes grow in the open air. 

And this industry is no new thing. While 
England has considered Canada a remote 
land of rigour given over to ice and austerity, 





for ninety consecutive years the farmers on 
Lake Erie shores have placidly produced 
fine peaches. Away back in 1820 Dennis 
Wolverton, M.P.P., grew* at Grimsby Ontario's 
first commercial peaches for market. 

Along the whole north shore of Lake Erie 
to-day grow tender and semi-tropical fruits 
of the finest quality in the world, and the 
industry has developed into splendid com- 
mercial proportions. 

The visitor, astonished to-day at the 
splendid modern facilities for growing and 
shipping fruit from the Lake Erie region, 
here and there stumbles across a reminder 
of the early foundation of this industry. 
Down in the south-west corner of the 
province one touches the fringe of an old 
civilization. We are able to produce with 
this the photograph of one of the few 
remaining French pear trees which we came 
across on the Canadian side of the Detroit 
River, We sought out old Mr. Edros 
Parent, a patriarch of over eighty, and asked 
him about the tree. 

"When I was leedle boy de pear tree was 
beeg lak dat ; when my fader was a boy jus' 
de samV* Without doubt this pear tree is 

one of the few sur- 
vivors of the orchards 
planted here by the 
Jesuits who explored 
this frontier "in the 
beginning," The 
splendid tree is over 
90ft, high, and still 
bears abundant and 
regular crops. 

The man who 
sowed this pear seed 
builded better than he 
knew. Here has been 
a bank account yield- 
ing compound interest 
at a rate which, if de- 
manded by any man- 
made corporation, 
would easily come 
under the head of usury. And the opportunity 
for the man who plants an orchard to-day is 
ten times better than it was for him who did 
this planting. The soil of this north lake shore 
is the same mellow, generous earth that it has 





always been, the climate is just as kindly; but 
what has science and applied art not done 
to aid the fruit-cult urist in ninety years ? 

The man who experimented with fruit in 
the old days worked with an untried soil and 
untested varieties of fruits. If he would be a 
shipper, he had to ship in small quantities 
to untried markets j fruit-growing was a 
speculation, with all the chances against the 
most enterprising. 

How about the orchardist who comes in to 
this north shore of Lake Erie to grow tender 
fruits to-day — what conditions face him? 
Fortune favours him ; he is in a position to 
reap where others have sown* The experi- 
mental stage has long been passed ; every 
experience of those who went before him 
is his to use with wise discrimination. 

In no part of the world, perhaps, is the 
ameliorating influence of a large body of 
water more distinctly marked than in this 
fruit-growing belt north of I^ake Erie, It is 
perfect land for grape- culture, Light, warm, 
deep, and well drained, the sandy soils and 
light loams along the foreshore afford the 
best opportunity in the world for the peach 
orchardist who would have the mini mum of 
wood-growth with the maximum of fruit 

J. H. Hale, of Georgia, America's acknow- 
ledged authority on peaches and peach grow- 
ing, pays a generous tribute to one section of 
this belt ; he says, "The Niagara Escarpment 
is the best peach -district on the map of 
America." Here already fruit has crowded out 

Digitized by GoOQlc 

almost entirely general farming, the beautiful 
vineyards and orchards of from twenty to one 
hundred acres in extent giving the land the 
appearance of a second California, There is 
peach -growing area enough on this north 
shore to supply all America with peaches. 

A drive through any of these fruit counties 
gives us one continuous vista of cherry, 
peach, pear, plum, and apple orchard, inter- 
spersed with long rows of vineyards. The 
very names of the counties are homelike to 
the ears of an Englishman— Essex County, 
and Kent, and Norfolk, and Middlesex, and 

One sees the result of orchard enterprise 
here, and looks for a reason for this almost 
tropic growth. It is the low altitude and the 
benign influence of the Lake Erie breezes 
which moderate the winter climate. It will 
be a surprise for many to learn that the 
average temperature of Ontario for the six 
growing months is 56'2deg. 

Throughout all this section grapes grow 
prohfically as a field crop Passing through, 
one thinks of Italy and the sunny slopes of 
Spain Here are eight to ten thousand acres 
planted to grapes, the product turning, per- 
haps, four tons to the acre, and selling at 
from twenty four to thirty dollars a ton. 
The grape culturist is guided in his choice 
of stock by the scientific knowledge at his 
disposal in the Dominion Experimental Farm 
at Ottawa, where they grow 100 distinct 
varieties of grapes. 

Original from 





The proportions to which this Lake Erie 
tender-fruit trade has already grown is a 
surprise to many. The St. Catherines Cold 
Storage and Forwarding Company handled 
during the past season 400,000 baskets of 
fruit, in addition to large quantities of lower- 
priced fruits sent out in boxes and barrels. 
This one city of St. Catherines last summer 
shipped out soo cars of tender fruit, with 
approximately twelve tons of fruit to each car 
—peaches, grapes, strawberries, raspberries 1 
cherries, plums, all grown in the open air. 

The three counties of Welland, Wentworth, 
and Lincoln grew in 1908 20,000 tons of 
grapes, which brought to their lucky growers 
a round i,ooo,ooodols. The nine shipping 
points of St, Catherines, Niagara Falls, Dal- 
housie, Stony Creek, Jordan, Winona, Niagara- 
on- the- Lake, Grimsby, Beamsville, sent out 
an average of 2,000 tuns of fruit each last 

The markets ? Lake Erie grapes are sent 
west as far as Vancouver on the Pacific 
Coast Between the vineyards and British 
Columbia is the great stretch of prairie 
country with its big cities, its half-grown 
ones, and those that grow up in the night. 
Here is a splendid and ever-appreciating 

market for the grapes, peaches, quinces, and 
cherries of sunny Ontario, 

Then there is the Mother Country, An 
exhibition of Ontario peaches was sent last 
year to the Franco-British Exhibition in 
London, and the shippers lost nothing by 
their plucky experiment, as, at the close of 
the exhibition, several cases were disposed 
of at a wholesale price of ten cents each 
peach, A consignment of Bartlett pears 
sent as a trial to Glasgow did well, and 
it would seem to be only a question of 
wisely studying transportation facilities until 
peaches and pears and quinces could find 
almost as many lucrative markets as the 
apple has already done. 

The excellent quality of Ontario apples and 
the acumen of her shippers are demonstrated 
in the fact that Ontario apples are being 
exported to twenty-one countries. They are 
appreciatively munched by small boys in Great 
Britain, Germany, France, and Denmark. 
Kaffirs at the Cape eat the Canadian -grown 
Red Astrachan, and so do the balloon- 
trousered little Hollanders. In the hot lands 
of Bermuda, Cuba, and the West Indies, 
Ontario apples are deemed a delicious 
dessert. They are shipped to British Guiana 


iOfWW^ HiPI,I1 < G SEASON*"'' 




and South America ; Hong-Kong buys them, 
and far Fiji. 

In the orchard season along the I^ake Erie 
shore the whole family works in the open air 
Fathers bring up their sons to the orchard 
business, and everybody thinks fruit and 
talks fruit and dreams fruit. Every modern 
facility aids scientific fruit-culture. The 
schools teach agriculture. Each little 
community has its local horticultural 
society, and there are available county, 
provincial, national, and international fruit 

Not only does the Dominion Government 
maintain experimental farms, but it co- 
operates with the fruit-growers in securing 

and voting-list on the shore-line of South 

Which kind of men from the Old Land 
will succeed here? First, those who have 
been accustomed to outdoor manual labour 
and have some knowledge of fruit-growing; 
and, second, those who are young, strong, 
adaptable, and willing to make a study of this 
lucrative industry. Shopmen, clerks, and 
commercial travellers will not be likely to 
succeed, and cannot be advised to undertake 
fruit-growing here. 

The north shore of lake Erie holds out 
rich inducement to the British agriculturist 
with a small amount of capital and a large 
amount of ambition. This man may bring 


refrigerator-cars and up-to-date transportation 
for the crop. Are there fruit farms in this 
southern district yet to be obtained by the 
new comer from Britain, and would he feel 
at home if he came here ? Yes ; there are 
farms available, and of the besL The fruit- 
growers that he would find established here 
before him are but his own people some 
generations ahead of him in the game. 
Down among the grape-vines of the Niagara 
Peninsula, and indeed all along the north 
shore of Lake Erie, are the sturdy descendants 
of the old United Empire Loyalists. 

" By Tre } Pvf t and Pen^ you may know the 
Cornish men." In the southern half of the 
county of Essex, in the very south-west comer 
of Ontario, every man, woman, and child is 
either descended from or married to the 
Wigles* Scratches^ or Poxes^ the old soldiers 
of Fort Maiden below Amherst burg. The 
names persist in every school - register 

his little capital and buy a cleared and bearing 
fruit-farm for little more than it costs him to 
rent a farm at home. He will find in the 
fruit-belt of Southern Ontario organizations 
ready to help him, he will find experimental 
farms splendidly equipped to advise him, and 
he will be at home among people of his own 
blood, who, if he be made of the right mettle, 
will heartily welcome him as a neighbour and 
fellow -producer. 

The words of wise old Cato are as true in 
Southern Ontario to-day as they were when 
he uttered them sitting under his own vine 
and fig tree 200 years before the Christian 
era : "In the pleasures of husbandry I greatly 
delight ; they are not interrupted by age, and 
seem the pursuits in which a wise man's life 
should be spent. The earth does not rebel 
against authority ; it gives back with usury 
what it receives ; the tillage of the earth is 
salutary to all.'* 

by Google 

Original from 

(""rw^nL'' Original from 



* i 

by Google 

(Set patpe 272.) 

Original from 


Vol. xxxviii. 


No. 225. 



S one approaches one's fiftieth 
birthday one looks back at 
one's career in sport — a very 
humble one in my case — as a 
thing which approaches com- 
pletion. Yet I have at least 
held on to it as long as I could, for I played 
a hard match of Association football at forty- 
four, I still play cricket of a declining quality, 
and I am good for three rounds with the 
gloves when I can get the chance. But if I 
have never specialized, and have therefore 
been a second rater in all things, I have 
made up for it by being an all-rounder, and 
have had, I dare say, as much fun out of 
sport as many an adept. It would be odd if 
a man could try as many games as I for so 
many years without having some interesting 
experiences or forming a few opinions which 
would bear recording and discussion. 

And first of all let me "damn the sins I 
have no mind to " by recording what most of 
my friends will regard as my limitations. I 
never could look upon flat-racing as a true 
sport. Sport is what a man does, not what a 
horse does. Skill and judgment are shown, no 
doubt, by the professional jockeys, but I 
think it may be argued that in nine cases out 
of ten the best horse wins, and would have 
equally won, could his head be kept straight, 
had there been a dummy on his back. But 
making every allowance, on the one side, for 
what human qualities may be called forth, 
and for any improvement of the breed of 
horses (though I am told that the same pains 
in other directions would produce infinitely 
more fruitful and generally useful results), and 
putting on the other side the demoralization 
from betting, the rascality among some book- 
makers, and the collection of undesirable 
characters brought together by a race meet- 
ing, I cannot avoid the conclusion that the 
harm greatly outweighs the good from a 
broadly national point of view. Yet I 
recognize, of course, that it is an amusement 

Vol. Jtxxviii.— 35. Copyright, 1909, by 

which lies so deeply in human nature — the 
oldest, perhaps, of all amusements which 
have come down to us — that it must have 
its place in our system until the time may 
come when it will be gradually modified, 
developing, perhaps, some purifying change, 
as prize - fighting did when it turned to 
contests with the gloves. 

I have purposely said "flat-racing," because 
I think a stronger case, though not, perhaps, 
an entirely sound one, could be made out for 
steeplechasing. Eliminate the mob and the 
money, and then, surely, among feats of 
human skill and hardihood there are not 
many to match that of the winner of a really 
stiff point-to-point, while the man who rides 
at the huge barriers of the Grand National 
has a heart for anything. As in the old days 
of the ring, it is not the men nor the sport, 
but it is the followers who cast a shadow on 
the business. Go down to Waterloo and 
meet any returning race train, if you doubt it. 

If I have alienated half my readers by my 
critical attitude to the Turf, I shall probably 
offend the other half by stating that I cannot 
persuade myself that we are justified in taking 
life as a pleasure. To shoot for the pot must 
be right, since man must feed, and to kill 
creatures which live upon others (the hunting 
of foxes, for example) must also be right, 
since to slay one is to save many ; but the 
rearing of birds in order to kill them, and the 
shooting of such sensitive and inoffensive 
animals as hares and deer, cannot, I think, be 
justified. I must admk that I have shot a 
good deal before I came to this conclusion. 
Perhaps the fact, while it prevents my assum- 
ing any airs of virtue, will give my opinion 
greater weight, since good shooting is still 
within my reach, and I know nothing more 
exhilarating than to wait on the borders of an 
autumn-tinted wood, to hear the crackling 
advance of beaters, to mark the sudden whir 
and the yell of " Mark over," and then, over 
the topmost branches;, to see a noble' cock 




pheasant whizzing down wind at a pace 
which pitches him a hundred yards behind 
you when you have dropped him. But when 
your moment of exultation is over, and you 
note what a beautiful creature he is and how 
one instant of your pleasure has wrecked him, 
you feel that you had better think no longer if 
you mean to slip two more cartridges into 
your gun and stand by for another. Worse 
still is it when you hear the child-like wail of 
the wounded hare. I should think that there 
are few sportsmen who have not felt a disgust 
at their own handiwork when they have heard 
it. So, too, when you see the pheasant fly 
on with his legs showing beneath him as sign 
that he is hard hit. He drops into the thick 
woods and is lost to sight. Perhaps it is as 
well for your peace of mind that he should 
be lost to thought also. 

Of course, one is met always by the per- 
fectly valid argument that the creatures would 
not live at all if it were not for the purposes 
of sport, and that it is presumably better 
from their point of view that they should 
eventually meet a violent death than that 
they should never have existed. No doubt 
this is true. But there is another side of the 
question as to the effect of the sport upon 
ourselves — whether it does not blunt our 
own better feelings, harden our sympathies, 
brutalize our natures. A coward can do it as 
well as a brave man ; a weakling can do it 
as well as a strong man. There is no ulti- 
mate good from it. Have we a moral right, 
then, to kill creatures for amusement ? I 
know many of the best and most kind- 
hearted men who do it, but still I feel that in 
a more advanced age it will no longer be 

And yet I am aware of my own incon- 
sistency when I say I am in sympathy with 
fishing, and would gladly have a little if I 
knew where to get it. And yet, is it wholly 
inconsistent ? I s a cold-blooded creature of 
low organization like a fish to be regarded in 
the same way as the hare which cries out in 
front of the beagles, or the deer which may 
carry the rifle bullet away in its side? If 
there is any cruelty it is surely of a much 
less degree. Besides, is it not the sweet 
solitude of Nature, the romantic quest, rather 
than the actual capture which appeals to the 
fisherman? One thinks of the stories of 
trout and salmon which have taken another 
fly within a few minutes of having broken 
away from a former one, and one feels that 
their sense of pain must be very different 
from our own. 

I once had the best of an exchange of 

Digitized by ^jOOQ IC 

fishing stories, which does not sound like 
a testimonial to my veracity. It was in a 
Birmingham inn, and a commercial traveller 
was boasting of his successes. I ventured 
to back the weight of the last three fish 
which I had been concerned in catching 
against any day's take of his lifetime. He 
closed with the bet and quoted some large 
haul, a hundred pounds or more. "Now, 
sir," he asked, triumphantly, "what was the 
weight of your three fish ? " " Just over two 
hundred tons," I answered. " Whales ? " 
" Yes, three Greenland whales." " I give 
you best," he cried ; but whether as a fisher- 
man, or as a teller of fish stories, I am not 
sure. As a matter of fact, I had only returned 
that year from the Arctic Seas, and the three 
fish in question were, in truth, the last which 
I had helped to catch. 

There is, indeed, a royal sport, the greatest 
on earth, if the size and value of the quarry 
be taken into account At the time whale- 
bone was fifteen hundred pounds a ton, and 
that amount could be taken from a large fish, 
besides another thousand pounds' worth of oil. 
To have the value of two thousand five hundred 
pounds at the end of a line, and to master it 
by sheer skill and audacity, is the apotheosis 
of fishing. In the course of my voyage I 
had the good fortune once to be in the 
harpooning boat and once in the lancing 
boat, which actually kills the exhausted crea- 
ture. In the former instance, I was too 
busy in pulling and backing according to the 
whispered orders of the harpooner to have 
any thought beyond my oar, but in the 
second case the boat was for half an hour 
alongside the dying fish, and one had 
some exciting moments as it waved its great 
fins in the air or tried to reach us with its 
tail, while we boat-hooked ourselves to its 
shoulder. But the danger of the sport is 
less than one would imagine, for the great 
Greenland whale is not a vicious creature, 
and if it occasionally splinters a boat it is, 
1 think, as often by accident as design. 

My only actual experience of heavy game 
shooting was during this cruise, though I 
still live in hopes of getting a tiger before 
I finish. We shot a considerable variety of 
seals and about fifty Polar bears. It was 
our habit when anchored to an icefield to 
burn a few bones, with the result that the 
fumes carried down wind would fetch up any 
bears within twenty miles of us. It was 
strange to see them coming up, two at a 
time, quite yellow against the Arctic snow, 
shuffling swiftly along, and pausing con- 
tinually to snuff the appetizing smell. In an 




hour or two their 
skins were usually 
drying upon our 

I took two pairs 
of gloves aboard the 
whaler with me, and 
taught several of 
the men to box- I 
have always been 
keen upon the noble 
old English sport, 
and, though of no 
particular class 
myself, I suppose I 
might describe my 
form as that of a 
fair average a in a 
teur, I should have 
been a better man 
had I taught less 
and learned more, 
but after my first 
tuition I had few 
chances of profes- 
sional teachingn 
However , I have 
done a good deal 
of mixed boxing 
among many dif- 
ferent types of men, 
and had as much 
pleasure from it as 
from any form of 
sport. It stood me 

in good stead aboard the whaler. Upon the 
very first evening I had a strenuous bout with 
the steward* who was an excellent sportsman. 
I heard him afterwards, through the partition 
of the cabin, declare that I was " the best 
sur-r-r-geon we've had, Colin— he J s blacked 
my ee." It struck me as a singular test of 
medical ability, but I dare say it did no harm. 

I remember when I was a medical prac- 
titioner going down to examine a mans life 
for insurance in a little Sussex village, He 
was the gentleman farmer of the place, and 
a most sporting and jovial soul. It was a 
Saturday, and I enjoyed his hospitality that 
evenings staying over till Monday, After 
breakfast it chanced that several neighbours 
dropped in, one of whom, an athletic young 
farmer, was fond of the gloves. Conver- 
sation soon brought out the fact that I had 
a weakness in the same direction* The result 
was obvious. Two pairs of gloves were 
hunted from some cupboard, and in a few 
minutes we were hard at it, playing light at 
first and letting out as we warmed. It was 


soon clear that there was no room inside a 
house for two heavy-weights, so we adjourned 
to the front lawn. The main road ran across 
the end of it, with a low wall of just the right 
height to allow the village to rest its elbows 
on it and enjoy the spectacle. We fought 
several very brisk rounds, with no particular 
advantage either way, but the contest always 
stands out in my memory for its queer sur- 
roundings and the old English picture in 
which it was set. 

They say that every form of knowledge 
comes useful sooner or later Certainly my 
own limited experience in boxing and my 
very large acquaintance with the history of 
the prize-ring found their scope when I 
wrote il Rodney Stone/' No one but a 
fighting man would ever, I think, quite 
understand or appreciate some of the 
detail A friend of mine read the scene 
where Boy Jim fights Berks to a prize-fighter 
as he lay in what proved to be his last illness. 
The man listened with growing animation 
until the reader euros; to the point where the 




second advises Boy Jim, in technical jargon, 
how to get at his awkward antagonist. 

" That's it ! By , he's got him ! " shouted 

the man in the bed. It was an incident 
which gave me pleasure when I heard it. 

I have never concealed my opinion that 
the old prize-ring was an excellent thing from 
a national point of view — exactly as glove- 
fighting is now. Better that our sports should 
be a little too rough than that we should run a 
risk of effeminacy. But the ring outlasted its 
time. It was ruined by the villainous mobs 
who cared nothing for the chivalry of sport or 
the traditions of British fair play as compared 
to the money gain which the contest might 
bring. Their blackguardism drove out the 
good men— the men who really did uphold 
the ancient standards, and so the whole 
institution passed into rottenness and decay. 
But now the glove contests carried on under 
the discipline of the National Sporting or 
other clubs perpetuate the noble old sport 
without a possibility of the more evil elements 
creeping into it once more. To have an 
exhibition of hardihood without brutality, of 
good-humoured courage without savagery, 
of skill without trickery, is, I think, the very 
highest which sport can give. People may 
smile at the mittens, but a twenty-round con- 
test with four-ounce gloves is quite as punish- 
ing an ordeal as one could wish to admire. 
There is as little room for a coward as in the 
rougher days of old, and the standard of en- 
durance is probably as high as in the average 

One wonders how our champions of to-day 
would have fared at the hands of the heroes 
of the past. I know something of this end of 
the question, for I have seen nearly all the 
great boxers of my time, from J. L. Sullivan • 
down to Tommy Burns and Johnson, not 
forgetting Ian Hague, who, we all hope, may 
restore the long-eclipsed fame of the British 
heavy-weight. But how about the other end — 
the men of old ? Wonderful Jem Mace is the 
only link between them. On the one hand, 
he was supreme in the 'sixties as a knuckle- 
fighter; on the other, he gave the great 
impetus to glove-fighting in America, and 
more especially in Australia, which has 
brought over such champions as Frank Slavin 
and Fitzsimmons, who, through Mace's teach- 
ing, derive straight from the classic line of 
British boxers. He of all living men might 
draw a just comparison between the old and 
the new. But even his skill and experience 
might be at fault, for it is notorious that many 
of the greatest fighters under the old regime 
were poor hands with the mittens. Men 

could bang poor Tom Sayers all round the 
ring with the gloves, who would not have 
dared to get over the ropes had he been 
without them. 

If boxing is the finest single-man sport, I 
think that Rugby football is the best collective 
one. Strength, courage, speed, and resource 
are great qualities to include in a single game. 
I have always wished that it had come more 
my way in life, but my football was 
ruined, as many a man's is, by the fact that at 
my old school they played a hybrid game 
peculiar to the place, with excellent points of 
its own, but unfitting the youngster for any 
other. All these local freak games, wall 
games, Winchester games, and so on are 
national misfortunes, for while our youths 
are wasting their energies upon them — those 
precious early energies which make the 
instinctive players — the young South African 
or New Zealander is brought up on the 
real universal Rugby, and so comes over to 
pluck a few more laurel leaves out of our 
depleted wreath. In Australia they used to 
have a hybrid game of their own, but they 
have had the sense to fall into line, and are 
already taking the same high position which 
they hold in other branches of sport. I hope 
that our head masters will follow the same 

In spite of my wretched training I played 
for a time as a forward in the Edinburgh 
University team, but my want of knowledge 
of the game was too heavy a handicap. 
Afterwards I took to Association, and played 
first goal and then back for Portsmouth 
when that famous club was an amateur 
organization. Even then we could put, a 
very fair team in the field, and were runners- 
up for the County Cup the last season that I 
played. In the same season I was invited to 
play for the county. I was always too slow, 
however, to be a really good back, though I 
was a long and safe kick. After a long 
hiatus I took up football again in South 
Africa, and organized a series of inter-hospital 
matches in Bloemfontein which helped to 
take our minds away from enteric. My old 
love treated me very scurvily, however, for I 
received a foul from a man's knee which 
buckled two of my ribs and brought my 
games to a close. I have played occasion- 
ally since, but there is no doubt that as a man 
grows older a brisk charge shakes him up as 
it never did before. Let him turn to golf, 
and be thankful that there is still one splendid 
game which can never desert him. There 
may be objections to the " ancient and 
royal " — Mr. Hornung wittily expressed a 




cricketer's point of view when he said that 
it seemed "unsportsmanlike to hit a sitting 
ball " — but a game which takes four miles of 
country for the playing must always have a 
majesty of its own. 

Personally I am an enthusiastic, but a 
most inefficient, golfer — a ten at my best, and 
at my worst outside the pale of all decent 
handicaps. But surely it is a great testimony 

I used in my early golfing days to practise 
on the very rudimentary links in front of 
the Mena Hotel, just under the Pyramids* 
It was a weird ground, where, if you sliced 
your ball t you might find it bunkered in the 
grave of some Rameses or Thothmes of old. 
It was here, I believe, that the cynical 
stranger, after watching my energetic but 
ineffectual game, remarked that he had 


to the qualities of a game when a man can 
be both enthusiastic and inefficient. It is a 
proof at least that a man plays for the game's 
sake and not for personal kudos, Golf is the 
coquette of games. It always lures one on 
and always evades one. Ten years ago I 
thought I had nearly got it. I think so 
to-day. And ten years hence I may still have 
the same delusion. But my scoring cards will 
show, I fear, that the coquette has not yet 
been caught- The middle-aged lover cannot 
hope to win her smile. 


always understood that there was a special 
tax for excavating in Egypt. I have a 
pleasant recollection of Egyptian golf in a 
match played with the present Sirdar, then 
head of the Intelligence Department. When 
my ball was teed I observed that his negro 
caddie pointed two fingers at it and spat, 
which meant, as I was given to understand, 
that he cursed it For the rest of the game. 
Certainly I got into every hazard in the 
course, though I must admit that I have 
accomplished that when there was no Central 




African curse upon me. Those were the 
days before the reconquest of the Soudan, 
and I was told by Colonel Wingate — as he 
then was — that his spies coming down from 
Omdurman not unfrequently delivered their 
messages to him while carrying his golf clubs, 
to avoid the attentions of the Calipha's spies, 
who abounded in Cairo. On this occasion 
the Sirdar beat me well, but with a Christian 
caddie I turned the tables on him at Dunbar, 
and now we have signed articles to play off 
the rubber at Khartoum, no cursing allowed. 
When that first match was played we would 
as soon have thought of arranging to play 
golf in the moon. 

There is said to be a considerable analogy 
between golf and billiards, so much so that 
success in the one generally leads to success 
in the other. Personally, I have not found 
it so, for though I may claim, I suppose, to 
be above the average amateur at billiards, I 
am certainly below him in golf. I have 
never quite attained the three-figure break, 
but I have so often topped the eighty, and 
even the ninety, that I live in constant 
hope. My friend, the late General Drayson, 
who was a great authority upon the game, 
used to recommend that every player should 
ascertain what he called his "decimal," by 
which he meant how many innings it took 
him, whether scoring or not, to make a 
hundred. The number, of course, varies 
with the luck of the balls and the mood of 
the player ; but, taken over a dozen or 
twenty games, it gives a fair average idea 
of the player's form, and a man by himself 
can in this way test his own powers. If, for 
example, a player could, on an average, score 
a hundred in twenty innings, then his average 
would be five, which is very fair amateur 
form. If a man finds his " decimal " rise as 
high as ten over a sequence of games, he 
may be sure that he can hold his own against 
most players that he is likely to meet. 

My earliest recollection of cricket is not 
a particularly pleasant one. When I was a 
very small boy at a preparatory school, I was 
one of a group of admirers who stood around 
watching a young cricketer who had just 
made his name hitting big hits off the school 
bowlers. One of the big hits landed on my 
knee-cap, and the cricketer in his own famous 
arms carried me off to the school infirmary. 
The name, Tom Emmett, lingers in my 
memory, though it was some years before I 
appreciated exactly what he stood for in the 
game. I think, like most boys, I would 
rather have been knocked down by a first-class 
Cricketer than picked up by a second rater. 

That was the beginning of my acquaintance 
with a game which has on the whole given 
me more pleasure during my life than any 
other • branch of sport. I have ended by 
being its victim, for a fast bowler some years 
ago happened to hit me twice in the same 
over on my left knee, which has left a per- 
manent weakness, growing from year to year, 
and now enough, I fear, to hold me from the 
game. But I bear it no grudge for that, since 
I have had as long an innings as one could 
reasonably expect, and carry many pleasant 
friendships and recollections away with me. 

I was a keen cricketer as a boy, but in my 
student days was too occupied to touch it. 
Then I took it up again, but my progress 
was interrupted by work and travel. I had 
some cause, therefore, to hold on to the game 
as I had lost so much of it in my youth. 
Finally, I fulfilled a secret ambition by getting 
into the fringe of first-class cricket, though 
rather, perhaps, through the good nature of 
others than my own merits. However, I can 
truly say that in the last season when I 
played some first-class cricket, including 
matches against Kent, Derbyshire, and the 
London County, I had an average of thirty- 
two for those games, so I may claim to have 
earned my place. I was more useful, how- 
ever, in an amateur team, for I was a fairly 
steady and reliable bowler, and I could 
generally earn my place in that department, 
while with the M.C.C. the professional talent 
is usually so strong that the amateur who 
fails in batting and is not a particularly good 
field has no chance of atoning with the ball. 
Yet even with the M.C.C. I have occasion- 
ally had a gleam of success. Such a one 
came only two years ago, when the team 
presented me with a little silver hat for get- 
ting three consecutive clean-bowled wickets 
against the Gentlemen of Warwick. One of 
my victims explained his downfall by assur- 
ing me that he had it thoroughly in his head 
that I was a left-handed bowler, and when 
the ball came from my right hand he was too 
bewildered to stop it. The reason is not so 
good as that of an artist who, when I had 
bowled him out, exclaimed: "Who can play 
against a man who bowls in a crude pink 
shirt against an olive-green background?" 

A bowler has many days when everything 
is against him, when a hard, smooth wicket 
takes all the spin and devil out of him, when 
he goes all round and over the wicket, when 
lofted balls refuse to come to hand, or, if 
they do come, refuse to stay. But, on the 
other hand, he has his recompense with 

many a stroke of good fortune. It was in 


ny a 





such a moment that I got the wicket of the 
greatest of all cricketers. Alas! there was 
nothing in the ball to make the deed memo- 
rable. It was a little short of a half volley 
outside the off wicket. But that is just 
where luck comes in. Four first-class pro- 
fessionals had done nothing against Grace's 
impenetrable defence because he was on his 
guard against them. But this innocuous 
ball was above suspicion. He tried to pull 
it, and getting under it sent it up to an 
amazing height into the air. My heart 
seemed to go about as high as I saw Storer 
run from the wickets to get under it> but it 
was very safe in the hands of the Derbyshire 
crack. That moment of supreme good for- 
tune atoned for many a missed chance and 
many a day's pounding on a hard wicket 

The grand old cricketer had bis speedy 
revenge, for he had my scalp at his girdle 
before we finished. There is nothing more 

began to relax in the deep respect with 
which I faced the Doctor's deliveries. I had 
driven him for four, and jumped out at him 
again the next balk Seeing my intention, as 
a good bowler does, he dropped his ball a 
foot or two shorten I reached it with difficulty, 
but again I scored four. By tins time I was 
very pleased with myself, and could see no 
reason why every one of these delightful 
slows should not mean a four to me. Out 
I danced to reach the next one on the hair 
volley. It was tossed a little higher up in 
the air, which gave the delusion that it was 
coming right up to the bat, but as a matter 
of fact it pitched well short of my reach, 
broke sharply across, and Lilley, the wicket- 
kee pc r, had my ba 1 1 s o ff i n a twinkling. One 
feels rather cheap when one walks from the 
middle of the pitch to the pavilion, longing 
to kick oneself for one's own foolishness all 
the way, I have only once felt smaller, and 
that was when I was bowled 
by A. P. Lucas, by the most 
singular ball that I have ever 


childlike and bland than that slow, tossed- up 
bowling of his, and nothing more subtle and 
treacherous* He is always on the wicket or 
about it, never sends down a really loose 
ball, works continually a few inches from the 
leg, and has a perfect command of length. 
It was the latter quality which was my down- 
fall. I had made some thirty or forty, and 

Vol. xx*viiL— 36. 

received. He propelled it like a quoit into 
the air to a height of at least thirty feet, and 
it fell straight and true on to the top of the 
bails, I have often wondered what a good 
batsman would have made of that ball. To 
play it one would have needed to turn the 
blade of the bat straight up, and could 
hardly fail to give «■. diMitre. I tried to cut 




it off my stumps, with the result that I 
knocked down my wicket and broke my 
bat, while the ball fell in the midst of this 
general chaos. I spent the rest of the day 
wondering gloomily what I ought to have 
done— and I am wondering yet. 

1 have had two unusual experiences upon 
Lord's ground. One was that I got a 
century in the very first match that I played 
there. It was an unimportant game, it is 
true, but still the surprising fact remained. 
It was a heavy day, and my bat, still 
encrusted with the classic mud, hangs as a 
treasured relic in my hall. The other was 
less pleasant and even more surprising. I 
was playing for the Club against Kent, and 
faced for the first time Bradley, who was that 
year one of the fastest bowlers in England. 
His first delivery I hardly saw, and it landed 
with a terrific thud upon my thigh. A little 
occasional pain is one of the advantages of 
cricket, and one takes it as cheerfully as one 
can, but on this occasion it suddenly became 
sharp to an unbearable degree. I clapped 
my hand to the spot, and found to my 
amazement that I was on fire. The ball had 
landed straight on a small tin vesta box in 
my trouser pocket, had splintered the box, 
and set the matches ablaze. It did not take 
me long to turn out my pocket and scatter 
the burning vestas over the grass. I should 
have thought this incident unique, but 
Alec Hearne, to whom I told it, assured 
me that he had seen more than one accident 
of the kind. 

There are certain matches which stand out 
on one's memory for their peculiar surround- 
ings. One was a match played against Cape 
de Verde at that island on the way to South 
Africa. There is an Atlantic telegraph 
Station there with a large staff, and they turn 
out an excellent eleven. I understand that 
they played each transport as it passed, and 
that they had defeated all, including the 
Guards. We made up a very fair team, how- 
ever, under the captaincy of Lord Henry 
Scott, and after a hard fight we defeated the 
islanders. I don't know how many of our 
eleven left their bones in South Africa ; three 
at least — Blasson, Douglas Forbes (who made 
our top score), and young Maxwell Craig never 
returned. I remember one even more tragic 
match in which I played for the Incogniti 
against Aldershot Division a few months 
before the war. The regiments quartered 
there were those which afterwards saw the 
hardest service. Major Ray, who made the 
top score, was killed at Magersfontein. 
Young Stanley, who went in first with me, 

met his death in the Yeomanry. Taking the 
two teams right through, I am sure that half 
the men were killed or wounded within two 
years. How little we could have foreseen it 
that sunny summer day ! When one thinks of 
all the good cricketers who took their turn at 
the war — Jackson, Spooner, Milligan (killed 
in action), Turner of Essex (wounded in 
several places), Lewis, the old Blue, Mitchell 
of Yorkshire, and so many others — one feels 
that sport was justified of its children, though, 
on the whole, I believe the Rugby footballers 
had the better record to show. 

One reform is badly needed in order to 
improve cricket as a spectacular game. It is 
the abolition of left-handed batting. The left- 
handed bowler hurts no one, but the batsman 
is undeniably a perfect nuisance, delaying the 
game and giving the field an immense amount 
of extra trouble. Why should he be per- 
mitted to do this when he is in so immense a 
minority? Of course, any legislation upon 
the subject should respect the position of all 
existing batsmen, and should give a margin 
of three or four years, so that those players 
who are coming on might not be disqualified. 
But after that date I would enact that no 
new player be admitted as a left-handed 
batsman into first-class cricket. In most 
cases a lad who shows an inclination to be 
left handed can be easily trained into using 
his right hand, and so, by encouraging him in 
the beginning, the matter can be set right at 
the source. At present, however, there is no 
reason why the youngster should be trained 
as a right-hander, and so we have the per- 
petuation of a nuisance which a little fore- 
sight and firm legislation could easily remove. 

I could devote the whole of this article 
very easily to experiences and reminiscences 
of cricket if I could hope to interest others 
in that which interested myself. However, 
my intention was rather to take a bird's-eye 
glance at many branches of sport than to 
hold forth upon any one, so I will turn away 
before I become garrulous. 

Of fencing my experience has been limited, 
and yet I have seen enough to realize what a 
splendid toughening exercise it is. I nearly 
had an ugly mishap when practising it. I 
had visited a medical man in Southsea who 
was an expert with the foils, and at his invita- 
tion had a bout with him. I had put on the 
mask and glove, but was loath to have the 
trouble of fastening on the heavy chest 
plastron. He insisted, however, and his 
insistence saved me from an awkward wound, 
for, coming in heavily upon a thrust, his foil 
broke a few inches from the end, and the 




sharp point thus created went deeply into the 
pad which covered me. I learned a lesson 
that day. 

On the whole, considering the amount oT 
varied sport which 1 have done, I have come 
off very well as regards bodily injury, One 
finger broken at football, two at cricket (one 
after the other in the same season), the dis- 
ablement of my knee, which may, I fear, 
prove permanent— that almost exhausts it. 
Though a heavy man and quite an indifferent 
rider, 1 have never hurt myself in a fair selec- 
tion of falls in the hunting field and else- 
where. Once when I was down the 
horse hit me over the eye with his fore- 
foot, but I got off wilh a rather ragged 

a high bank, threw me out on a gravd drive 
below, and then, turning over, fell upon the 
top of me. The steering-wheel projected 
slightly from the rest, and thus broke the 
impact and undoubtedly saved my life, but 
it gave way under the strain, and the weight 
of the car settled across my spine just below 
the neck, pinning my face down on to the 
gravel, and pressing with such terrific force 
as to make it impossible to utter a sound. 
I felt the weight getting heavier moment by 
moment, and wondered how long my verte- 
bra could stand it. However, they did so 


wound, though it might have been very 
much more serious. 

Indeed, when it comes to escapes, I have 
had more than my share of luck, One of 
the worst was in a motor accident, when the 
machine, which weighed over a ton, ran up 

long enough to enable a crowd to collect and 
the car to be levered off me. I should think 
tli ere are few who can say that they have 
held up a ton weight across their spine and 
lived unparalyzed to talk about it It is an 
acrobatic feat which I have no desire to repeat 


2 So 


There is plenty of sport in driving one's 
own motor and meeting the hundred and one 
unexpected roadside adventures and diffi- 
culties which are continually arising. These 
were greater a few years ago, when motors 
were themselves less solidly and accurately 
constructed, drivers were less skilled, and 
frightened horses were more in evidence. 
No invention of modern civilization has done 
so much for developing a man's power of 
resource and judgment as the motor,, To 
meet and over- 
come a sudden 
emergency is the 
best of human 
training, and if a 
man is liis own 
driver and media 
nician on a fairly 
long journey he 
can hardly fail to 
have some experi- 
ence of it. 

No doubt the 
coming science of 
aviation will 
develop the same 
qualities man even 
higher degree. It 
is a form of sport 
in which I have 
only aspirations 
and little experi- 
ence* 1 had one 
balloon ascent in 
w T hich we covered 
some twenty - five 
milesand ascended 
six thousand feet, 
which was so 
delightful an ex- 
pedition that 1 
have always been 
eager for another 
and a longer one. 
A man has a natural trepidation the first 
time he leaves the ground, hut I remember 
that t as I stood by the basket with the 
gas - hag swinging about above me and 
the assistants clinging to the ropes, some- 
one pointed out an elderly gentleman and 
saidj "That is the famous Mr. So-and-so, 
the aeronaut." I saw a venerable person 
and I asked how many ascents he had 
made, " About a thousand," was the answer* 
No eloquence or reasoning could have con 
vinced me so completely that I might get into 
the basket with a cheerful mind, though I will 
admit that for the first minute or so one feels 


very strange, and keeps an uncommonly 
tight grip of the side ropes. This soon 
passes, however, and one is lost in the 
wonder of the prospect and the glorious 
feeling of freedom and detachment. As in 
a ship, it is the moment of nearing land once 
more which is the moment of danger — or, at 
least, of discomfort ; but, beyond a bump or 
two, we came to rest very quietly in the heart 
of a Kentish hop-field. If anyone desires 
to make his first flight under safe and 

pleasant auspices. 
I can confidently 
recommend him 
to Mr, Percival 
Spencer at the 
Crystal Palace. 

There is one 
form of sport in 
which I have, I 
think, been able to 
do some practical 
good r for I can 
claim to have been 
the first to intro- 
duce skis into the 
Gnsons division of 
Switzerland, or at 
least to demon- 
strate their practi- 
cal utility as a 
means of getting 
acrcss in winter 
from one valley to 
another. It was 
in 1894 that I read 
Nan sen's account 
of his crossing of 
Greenland, and 
thus became 
interested in the 
subject of ski-ins;. 
It chanced that I 
was compelled to 
spend that winter 
in the Davos valley, and I spoke about 
the matter to Tobias Branger, a sport- 
ing tradesman in the village, who in turn 
interested his brother. We sent for skis 
from Norway, and for some weeks afforded 
innocent amusement to a large number 
of people who watched our awkward 
movements and complex tumbles. The 
Brangers made much better progress than 
L At the end of a month or so we felt 
that we were getting more expert > and 
determined to climb the Jacobshorn, a con- 
siderable hill just,. opposite the Davos Hotel, 
We had to carry our unwieldy skis upon our 




backs until we had 
passed the fir trees 
which line its slopes, 
but once in the open 
we made splendid 
progress, and had the 
satisfaction of seeing 
the flags in the village 
dipped in our honour 
when we reached the 
summit. I J tit it was 
only in returning that 
we got the full flavour 
of skiing. In ascend- 
ing you shuffle up by 
long zigzags, the only 
advantage of your 
footgear being that it 
is carrying you over 
snow which would 
engulf you without it. 
But coming back yoa 
simply turn your long 
toes and let yourself 
go, gliding delight- 
fully over the gentle 
slopes, flying down the 
steeper ones, taking 
an occasional cropper, 
but getting as near to flying j*s any earth- 
bound man can. In that glorious air it is 
a delightful experience, 

Encouraged by our success with the 

Jacobs horn, we 

determined to show 
the utility of our 
accomplishment by 
opening up com* 
munications with 
Arosa, which lies in 
a parallel valley ami 
can only be reached 
in winter by a very 
long and round- 
about railway jour- 
ney. To do this 
we had to cross a 
high pass, and then 
drop down on the 
other side. It was 
a most interesting 
journey, and we felt 
all the pride of 
pioneers as we 
arrived in Arosa. 
I remember that 
when we signed 
the hotel register 
Tobias Branger 

From a FAtffPi/rtfpA. 


filled up the space 
after my name, in 
which the n.w ar- 
rival had to describe 
his profession, by the 
word * l Spurtesmann," 
which I took as a com- 
pliment. It was at any 
1 a te m o re ] j1 easa n 1 1 h an 
the (.ivinian descrip- 
tion of my golf clubs, 
which went astray in 
the railway and turned 
up at last with the 
official description of 
" K in de rspie le r" 
(child's toys) at- 
tached to them* To 
return to the .skis, they 
are no doubt in very 
general use, but I think 
1 am right in saying 
that these and other 
excursions of ours first 
demonstrated their 
possibilities to the 
people of the country. 
If my rather rambling 
career in sport has 
been of any practical value to anyone it is 
probably in this matter, and also, perhaps, 
in the opening up of miniature rifle-ranges 
when the idea was young in this country. It 
^_^^^^^_^^ — ^^^ is splendid to see 

how this movement 
has spread, so that 
already we seem 
within measurable 
distance of the time 
when every village 
will once again* as 
in the Middle Ages, 
have its own butts. 
What is most needed 
now is that they 
should have the 
moral courage to 
open on Sunday 
afternoons, as their 
ancestors did before 
them, and as is done 
to day in every Pro- 
testant country in 
Europe. Patriotism 
has its duties as 
well as Religion, 
and they may well 
be fulfilled upon 





LT HOUGH it is now some 
time ago, there are many good 
people in the City and other 
places who remain hopelessly 
tangled in their ideas as to the 
circumstances that produced 
the crisis on 'Change which is still spoken of 
in financial circles as " the big panic." And 
there are others — with whom these same 
good people have nothing to do — who will 
believe to their last day that Clementina 
Wylie did her utmost to elope on the night 
of her birthday. The following, however, is 
the true account of what really happened on 
Farlingford Waste and elsewhere. 

It was as they passed the lodge that 
Sunderland, turning to his chauffeur, broke 
the silence he had maintained throughout 
the whole of the thirty-mile run that had 
followed upon the breakdown. 

"Stop!" he said. "Til walk up to the 

The car stopped and he got out In the 
moment that he stood looking after it his 
hand went involuntarily towards his breast- 
pocket — alone in the moonlight silence of 
the crisp white glittering night the temptation 
to look at the paper again was absurdly 
strong. He half drew it out ; pushed it 
back. As though a thousand readings could 
alter one letter of what had stopped his 
breath once already ! It was when — after 
wKat seemed an interminable time — the 
Snapped insulator wire had been discovered 
and replaced, and he waited for a brandy 
and soda in the bar of the roadside tavern 
luckily close by, that he had remembered, 
pulled it out, and seen the name. 

" It's — it's too horrible ! " groaned 

He went on. The drive was a short one ; 
in a minute a sharp curve brought the house 
into view — the great gorgeous granite, free- 
stone, and marble palace that " Bulldog " 
Wylie had finished building not so many 
months ago. Its every window was a blaze 
of light ; from the lofty-domed annexe that 
ran entirely along one side came, as he drew 
nearer, the sound of a band ; the dance was 
evidently in full swing. Which might mean 
— what ? Sunderland swung round suddenly 
towards the right-hand belt of shrubbery. 

The snow-fall had been so very slight and 
followed by a frost so sharp that, although 
every leaf and twig glittered in a shining 
sheath, not a flake fell from the laurels that 
he had heard rustle and seen move. What 
was it? A creature hiding — escaping? He 
sprang in among them. 

" It's I — Sunderland," he said, whispering. 
" Come out if it's you, sir." 

He waited, straining eyes and ears, but 
neither stir nor sound followed. Standing 
for a moment to reflect, he did not come out 
upon the drive again, but made his way by a 
path he knew to a certain side door, entered, 
and got rid of motor-coat and cap. Then he 
went on to Mr. Wylie's study. 

Quite empty, orderly, peaceable ; bright 
with fire and electric light ; on the big writing- 
table a little pile of letters and a smaller pile 
of telegrams. All the letters were unopened ; 
they lay tidily waiting. The telegrams — 
Sunderland, making towards them, drew back 
his hand — the buff envelopes were quite 
as eloquent as their contents could be. His 
look shifted from them to the one picture in 
the room, the portrait of " Bulldog " Wylie 
painted for that year's Academy by an 
eminent R.A. There were the thick-set, 
short-necked figure, the big broad head and 
bald forehead, the strong nose and deep-set, 
humorously twinkling eyes, and the great 
projecting club of aggressive jaw, beloved of 
caricaturists, that had given him the nickname 
by which all financial England knew its most 
daring and dazzlingly- successful financier. 

Sunderland swung round to the door 
and stood hesitating, his hand pulling 
at his short moustache. Then he went to 
the writing-table and scribbled a few lines — 
as a rule he was not apt at composition, but 
these seemed to come without effort — read 
them over, blotted them, and put them into 
his pocket. Then he went out again — to a 
certain draped doorway leading into the ball- 
room. " If only she will ! And if only this 
blessed mob weren't here to get rid of!" he 
said, and pulled aside the curtain, looked in, 
and saw Clementina — dark, slim, pretty — 
in a very-nearly-priceless Empire lace frock 
and possibly rather too profuse diamonds. 
Her big, translucent hazel eyes caught 
sight of the square shoulders, the square, 



=3 3 

tanned face surmounted by its surprised- 
looking brush of short fair hair, and 
Sunderland, seeing her coming, and drawing 
back out of sight, braced himself as he might 
have done for a plunge into icy-cold water. 
When she reached the gallery he was stand- 
ing at some little distance, but came forward 
at once with hand extended. 

Miss Wylie chose to ignore it and make a 

" So good of you to come, Lord Sunder- 
land — quite in time for supper," she said, 

"I'm most tremendously sorry," said 
Sunderland. "Upon my honour, not my 
fault, though — something went wrong with 
the car — couldn't get along. Train was 
awfully late, too— they've had a big snow- 
storm up North — line was pretty near blocked, 
don't you know." He trailed and blundered. 
14 1 say, I hope you didn't trouble to keep 
that dance ? " 

" Certainly not." She laughed ; she was 
always a little inclined to laugh at Sunderland. 
*'You are both disgraceful!" she said, 
severely. " But I'll wait till I get you both 
together and make one bullying do for the 
two" She glanced towards the gallery 
entrance. " Where is he ? " 

44 He ! " echoed Sunderland, and could 
have groaned it. 

" Dad ! " cried Clementina. She stared. 
" Hasn't he come down with you ? " 

14 With me? I've come straight from the 
North. Isn't he here ? " fenced Sunderland, 

44 No. Didn't you know?" She looked 
bewildered. 4S I can't understand it. He 
'phoned yesterday that he was motoring 
down with the new Thorneycroft car, but 
that he might be very late — he'd got some- 
thing extra-big on. So we didn't know until 
this morning that he hadn't come." 

" Have you 'phoned ?" began Sunderland. 
" I ain't ; there's something wrong with the 
telephone ; I've had a wire from Mr. Churton, 
asking whether he was here." 
44 His secretary?" 

11 Yes. I wired back that he wasn't, and that 
he hadn't been home. And just at dinner-time 
such a queer man came and asked to see me. 
But all he did was to ask the oddest questions 
— When had I seen dad last ?— Hadn't he 
come home ? — Didn't I know where he was ? 
— and didn't seem to believe me when I 
answered him ! I thought he was most 
abominably rude, and almost told him so." She 
paused, breathless, and came a pace nearer 
with appealing big eyes ; it was a look that 

had long ago made Sunderland abject. 44 1 
really am getting most awfully anxious, Lord 
Sunderland. Of course, he'd have Hudson 
with him, and he's a splendid driver; but, 
you know, it was ever so foggy late last night, 
and " 

44 No, no — no, no ! You mustn't fancy 
that," said Sunderland, soothingly. And 
felt as though the folded pink paper 
in his pocket were scorching his very 
flesh. Oh, the poor little, helpless, inno- 
cent, spoilt, unconscious girl ! he thought. 
Why couldn't he pick her up in his arms and 
carry her away out of it all ? If only she 
would come ! Perhaps he had been mistaken 
in the idea at which Peter Wylie had so 
vociferously scoffed — that she had any fancy 
for Hilyard. Certainly he had not been 
hovering near her to-night — had been 
nowhere visible, and certainly after to-night 
he would hover no more. If only she would 
come ! Once again he braced himself for 
a plunge into icy water. 

44 1 shouldn't worry," he said, gently. 
44 You — you'll hear in the morning, any- 
how." He looked at her, and. went a little 
white under his tan. <4 1 say, L didn't get 
that dance, you know, so you might give me 
a minute or two for — for something else, if 
you don't mind. You — you know, when I 
spoke to Mr. Wylie six months ago: — he told 
you, didn't he ? — he said that as soon as 
you were twenty-one I might try my luck, 
and " 

44 Oh, please ! " cried Clementina, drawing 
back. 44 Oh, I'm so— so sorry ! " she said. 

44 Ah ! " said Sunderland, and whitened 
more. 4I So it isn't any use ? " he asked, 

44 Oh, I'm so sorry ! " repeated Clementina. 
She looked at him — he was a dear, although 
ugly, and she did like him so much. What 
a pity it was ! 44 No, please," she said again. 

44 All right, dear—if you can't. . . . But 
you won't let it make any difference, will 
you ? " 

44 Difference ? " asked Clementina, blinking 
her black lashes. 

44 Yes ; I mean — if — or when there's any- 
thing I can do — one never knows — you'll 
come to me and let me do it. Forget I 
asked you, and all that, you know." 

44 Of course I will," said Clementina, some- 
what ambiguous, and dabbing wet eyes. 
44 And — and you don't mind so very much, 
do you ? " 

44 Oh, I don't mind more than other 
people, I suppose," said Sunderland, briskly. 
"Don't bother about me;' He glanced 

zS 4 



towards the ballroom. "They're beginning 
to dance in there again, aren't they? Pm 
keeping you From your partner." 

"No, you're not; I'm not dancing this — 
I'm tired. . * There is only one more dance 
after this— would you like it? I've kept it 

"Thanks— I don't think I'll dance to- 
night," said Sunderland. " Why, you're not 
going out?" 

She had turned away to a chair and picked 
up a cloak that lay upon it. She nodded t tiie big Soft hood over her dark head. 

Digitized by\jOOglC 

" Yes, I want some air 
... My head aches. . . . 
I shall be so stupid bj 
and by if I don't, . . . No. 
I sha'n't catch cold — I 
can't. . . . Of course, I 
won't be long," she said, 
as she stepped out. " Mind 
you come in to supper, 
won't you?" she cried, 
and ran across the path. 

"When they'll drink her 
health ! Oh, poor, poor 
little girl!" groaned Sun* 
dcrUnd, looking alter the 
slender, shining white 
figure as it vanished he- 
hind a group of laurels. 

Clementina stole away 
by a zigzag path through 
the fro/en bushes, and 
came out upon a broad 
walk, where a circle of turf 
surrounded a fish - pond 
and a fountain. The fish- 
pond had a wide stone 
edge, and from it some- 
body, with an exclamation 
of pleasure, started up 
and came to meet her, 

i( You have come ? " he 
said, eagerly. 

"Of course. Aren't you 
cold ?" said Clementina, 
Her blush made her 
prettier than ever as she 
looked up at the face that 
looked down at her. If 
her eyes artlessly betrayed 
that she thought it hand- 
some it was a verdict that 
its owner was well used 
to reading in many eyes. 
The good looks of Captain 
Hilyard were as proverbial 
among his acquaintances 

as his extravagance and his poverty. He 

shrugged with a half-laugh. 

"Cold ? I might have felt so if I had not 

been waiting for you* * . « You've really kept 

me that dance, then ? " 

11 I promised I would and I did," said 

Clementina, in a practical little voice. " I 

think you are ever so silly not to come and 

have it in the proper way, you know." 

" Do you ? lm afraid I could hardly do 

that after Mr. Wylie had practically turned 

me out of the house and n 

" Oh, no^ a | j^- m didn't," remonstrated 




Clementina, "He — he only said that — 
that " 

" That he did not choose to encourage me 
in any way, and that he would prefer it if I 
— abandoned my pretensions — yes," said 
Hilyard, quietly. " To be called a fortune- 
hunter " 

" Well, I don't think that was turning you 
out," said Clementina, " Anyhow, you might 
have come to my dance. You were invited, 
and dad knew it. ... I mustn't stay long, 
you know — they were beginning when I 
came out. . . . Oh, you motored over ? " 

They had come to a point of the walk 
where a path led through a belt of shrubbery 
to the lodge gates, and at the juncture a 
small car stood, its lamps shining. 

" Yes— it's that little Merc&fes I told you 
about — jolly goer. I — I had hoped you 
would try it with me one of these days." He 
hesitated. " Get in, won't you ? It will be 
less cold for you than standing." 

" It is cold," agreed Clementina, and got 
in, repeating that she must not stay long, and 
adding that there was one more dance before 
supper. Hilyard pulled the big fur rug 
round her. 

"That's better. Comfortable, isn't she? 
Another dance, is there ? Wonder what 
lucky beggar that belongs to ? " 

" Nobody. I told Lord Sunderland he 
might have it — he came too late for the one 
I'd promised him — but — but he doesn't 
care about waltzing." 

" Sunderland, eh ? " He laughed. " Oh, 
I know he was late. I was in among the 
bushes there when he came up the drive, 
and caught sight of him. Suppose he saw 
me, for he dived in and came after me." 

"Oh! But did he really see you ? " cried 

" No. I could have touched him, but he 
was none the wiser. I haven't done scout's 
work in the Transvaal for nothing. But 
don't stay here — come for a run." 

" What, in the car ? " cried Clementina. 

"Yes— just a little one— do! It will 
freshen you up for supper — you say nothing 
does that like a spin. We'll make a round 
and be back in no time." 

His tone was entreating, the expression of 
his handsome face more so ; Clementina was 
one of the kindest-hearted little souls alive, 
and just now her mood was unusually 

After all, why should she not go if it pleased 
him so? Certainly it v.*as much better fun 
than the dancing, of which she had had quite 
enough already; she loved motoring. Very 

Vol MtxviiL— 37. 

well, they might go for just a little spin, she 
conceded — a very little one — but he must 
bring her back in plenty of time for supper. 
Where were they going ? Round by 
Little Cudham and Chipping Thorn bury? 
No. She didn't know either. They had 
never motored quite in this direction. . . . 
Fifteen miles ? Well, perhaps they might do 
as much as that. . . . 

" Why, this looks exactly like Farlingford 
Waste ! " cried Clementina. 

There had been a good deal more talk at 
considerable length before she made this 
exclamation, staring at the wild, wide, heath- 
like stretch that spread before them in the 
light of the moon, The road wound away 
over it like a frosted white ribbon, and the 
car, with a sudden increase of speed, was 
flying along it. "It is Farlingford Waste!" 
she cried. 

" No, no ! Place they call Bridge Com- 
mon, I think," said Hilyard. 

" But it is Farlingford Waste," persisted 
Clementina. " I hadn't noticed where 
we were going, we've come such a round- 
about way, but I'm sure. Why, there's the 
road ahead that comes from Burnchester — 
I know the big finger-post. . . . Don't go 
faster — stop the car ! " 

Her raised voice was peremptory, her 
clutch at the wheel not less so. Hilyard 
stopped the car. 

"I believe you are right. I must have 
made a mistake," he said. " But we'll soon 
— what the deuce — oh, confound it all ! " 

There had been a crack and a snap ; the 
car gave a jolt and stopped with a jar as he 
turned it. Clementina gave a scream, for the 
wheel and about a foot of the steering- rod 
were loose in his hands. 

" Broken ! " she cried, horrified. 

"Snapped clean as I turned her — must 
have been flawed. What the deuce shall we 
do? "said Hilyard. 

He got out of the car. Clementina's little 
face stared from her hood, blank wilh con- 

" How ever shall I get home ? I can't walk 
fourteen miles." 

" In dancing-shoes and in the middle of 
the night ? Scarcely." He looked at her 
hard, flushed, and made a sudden movement 
towards her. Captain Hilyard's professional 
and other courage was of the dashing order, 
and Clementina, in the middle of Farlingford 
Waste, looked very helpless and scared and 
small. " Don't look so frightened, darling. 
What does it matter ? Why, it's the luckiest 
accident in the wciid." 




u Lucky ! " cried Clementina, 

"The very luckiest* Don't bother your 
dear little head about going back. Come 
with me instead." 

* ( With you ? " cried Clementina- 

"Of course/* He laughed, looking his 
handsomest, coming nearer— he believed in 
the tactics of assault. "I know you like 
me, dear — you know you do. If I had asked 
you plainly, instead of going to your father 
first, you would have said 'Yes,' wouldn't 
you? Hell give in fast enough once we are 
married — too fond of you to do anything 
else — and you're twenty-one now, you know. 
We'll go to Rexford — the night train 
from Exeter stops 
there — be in town 
by breakfast^ time, 
and get a special 
licence. It isn't 
much more than a 
mile. You can 
manage that ? " 

He moved to lift 
her down — the 
most successful 
assault is carried 
with a rush — but 
he had omitted to 
take into calcula- 
tion the modicum 
of his own nature 
with which it 
chanced that 
"Bulldog" Wylie 
had endowed his 
daughter. Two 
re sol u te little 
hands met his 
broad chest with a 
push that made 
him stagger* Cle- 
mentina jumped 
out of the car, 

(< I think you are 
mad, Captain Hil- 
yard! 1 ' She stared 
at him, haughtily 
merciless. "Elope? 
I have not the 
slightest idea, I 
assure you, of 
doing anything 
half so ridicu- 
lous ! " 

" Ridiculous ? " 
He had expected 
the rebuff as little 
as the thrust, 

and for the moment was absurdly thrown 
out "Ridiculous?" 

44 Absolutely ridiculous! What in the 
world do you suppose I should do it for? 3 
Her eyes, sweeping over him, loft him to 
understand that they saw no reason whatever. 
M Since by your carelessness you have got mt 
into this most silly position, you will be good 
enough, if you please, to see mc home." 

She gathered up her skirts as though the 
fourteen miles were fourteen yards, Hilyard 
recovered himself— there were other tactic; 
than those of assault. 

" If you choose to hlame me for an acci- 
dent, I cannot of course help it," he said 


by Google 



gmal tram 



and shrugged deprecatingly. " But, my dear 
little girl, surely you don't seriously ask me 
what you should do it for ? " 

44 What do you mean ? " cried Clementina. 

"Isn't it plain enough? You may not 
have been missed yet, it's true, but it must 
be hours before you can possibly reach home, 
and by that time . . . I'm afraid, too, that the 
lodge-keeper caught a glimpse of you as we 
passed — when you're missed he's sure to 
remember it. . . . Don't you see what every- 
body will think ? " 

" That I've run away with you ? " 
Clementina gasped. 

44 Of course they will." He approached 
her again. "Come, dear, I'm sorry you are 
angry, but it doesn't really matter, does it? 
You know how desperately fond of you 1 am, 
don't you ? Give them a real elopement to 
talk about, and " 

"Oh, there's somebody coming ! Look — 
look ! " cried the girl. A car was sweeping 
swiftly down upon them from the cross-road 
leading to Burnchester. Hilyard gave an 
exclamation and caught her hand. 

"Come this way. It may be somebody 
who knows you," he urged, quickly. 

44 1 hope it is ! " She stared and pulled 
her hand away. " Please don't touch me, 
Captain Hilyard. Whoever it is will take 
me home if I ask, no doubt. . . . Why — oh ! 
Lord Sunderland ! " 

The car slowed down and stopped. Sun- 
derland, with a loud ejaculation of amazement, 
sprang out. Clementina clutched his arm. 

44 Oh, I'm so glad you've come!" she 
gasped, hysterically. "The car's broken 
down — we can't get on. Look ! " 

44 Broken down ! " Sunderland echoed, 
bewildered. He stared at Hilyard, at her, 
at the broken wheel to which she pointed. 
44 Broken down ? Queer sort of break ! " 
He picked it up, held the fractured end of 
the rod to one of his lamps, dropped it, and 
looked at the other. " You unspeakable 
cad ! "- he said, deliberately. 

" Lord Sunderland ! " cried Hilyard, 
fiercely, and Sunderland laughed. 

44 You cur ; but I'd like to thrash you ! " he 
said. " To trap a girl by an infernal trick 
like that ! " He turned to her. " Miss 
Wylie, that rod had been filed about three 
parts through. A good twist and wrench 
would break it at any minute, and that's 
what's been done. I don't know how you 
came to let Captain Hilyard bring you so far 
away from home at such a time, but " 

"I didn't; oh, I didn't!" cried Clementina, 
indignant, and for a minute was voluble, 

incoherent, and exhaustively explanatory. 
Sunderland nodded and pulled her cloak 
round her. 

44 That's all right— I understand," he said, 
soothingly. " Don't be upset — I'm here, you 
know. If I hadn't been — never mind that. 
Let me put you into the car." 

He put her into the car, got in himself, and 
started it. Captain Hilyard was left alone 
beside the disabled Merc&fes to express his 
feelings — if the fancy took him— to Farling- 
ford Waste. at large. Sunderland presently 
slowed down again, feeling the slender figure 
beside him shiver. 

44 You're cold," he said. "No wonder, 
poor little thing ! I've some .brandy here — 
drink a little. You must, or you'll take a 

He produced a flask. Clementina drank 
obediently and handed it back. 

44 He said " — she flicked a scornful hand 
behind her — "that everybody would think 
I'd eloped with him." 

44 1 wouldn't mind what he said," replied 

44 1 won't. I'm only ashamed to think I 
thought I liked him so much." She hesitated. 
44 1 — I suppose you came out to look for me, 
didn't you ? " 

44 No. I didn't know. I thought you were 
at home all right. Fact is, I just motored 
over to see my sister — at Burnchester Court, 
you know." 

44 Your sister? What, in the middle of the 
night ? " cried Clementina, bewildered. 

44 Perhaps it was a bit late — or early — 
depends on how you look at it. She didn't 
mind, though, if I did wake her up. I've 
told you what a brick Bab is. She promised 
she'd do what I wanted in a minute." 

44 It must be very important, I should 
think," said Clementina, perplexed. 

44 Yes. ... I was just sprinting back 
when — halloa ! Here comes somebody along 
from Rexton. The Waste is all alive 
to-night ! " 

The somebody was in a trap and the trap 
was close. Clementina glanced up at its 
driver, gave a scream, and sprang out of the 
car so recklessly that had not Sunderland 
caught her she must have fallen headlong. 

44 It's Hudson — Hudson!" she cried, 
wildly. "Oh, Hudson, where, where, 
wherever is dad ? " 

44 Miss Clementina ! " ejaculated the man. 
He pulled up and jumped down, staring, as 
well he might, at her lace frock and the 
diamonds shining in her hair and round her 
throat — the cloak had fallen back. "Mr, 




Wylie " he began, bewildered, and 

Sunderland struck in sharply. 

" Where is Mr. Wylie ? " he demanded. 

11 1 don't know, my lord. I have not seen 
him since I left him last night." 

" Last night ? " cried Clementina. 

" I should say the night before, my lord. 
I — I am forgetting the time." The man's 
face wore a ludicrous expression of astonished 
perplexity as he looked again at the girl. 
"I beg your pardon, madam, but I hope 
Mr. Wylie is not angry at the mistake I was 
so foolish as to make. I wired as soon as I 
could this morning — I should say, yesterday 
morning — explaining that I had unfortunately 
fallen asleep in the train, and so, instead of 
changing at the junction and going on to 
town according to his orders, had got carried 
on to Carlisle. I should have been back 
by the afternoon, as I said, but a snow- 
storm has blocked the line and I was delayed 
for hours. I did not reach Euston until 
nearly eleven o'clock, and was barely able 
to call at Grosvenor Place, get the parcel, 
and rush back to Paddington in time for the 
last train to Rexford. I was delayed there 
again before I could get the trap to bring 
me on. . . . I — I am exceedingly sorry. I 
hope Mr. Wylie will be so good as to excuse 

He had been feeling in an inner pocket, 
and now produced a small sealed parcel. 
Clementina, listening helplessly, kept from 
interruption by Sunderland's gesture, looked 
at it listlessly as she took it. 

41 What is it? "she asked. 

"I understood it was something for your 
birthday, madam. Mr. Wylie was most vexed 
when he found he had forgotten it. He sent 
me back to fetch it at once — it was close out- 
side Rexton Station — and said he would drive 
himself the rest of the way home. He would 
take the short cut over the Waste, he said, 
and " 

" Yes, yes ; never mind that ! " Sunderland 
interposed. " You had best get along home, 
Hudson ; I will bring Miss Wylie." His tone 
and gesture were peremptory, but it was 
his look that sent the man, after a glance 
back, climbing quickly into the trap and 
driving off again. Clementina, standing with 
the packet in her hand, looked at Sunderland 

"Why did you send him on?" she said. 
"I wanted to ask him " 

" My dear, he could have told you nothing 
more," said Sunderland. 

11 How do you know ? He saw dad last." 
She gave a little moaning cry, a wild move- 

ment as though she would run. " Where can 
he be — where can he be? We must look 
for him." 

" We will look when it is light. Let me 
take you home," said Sunderland. 

" No, no ! " She pushed him away. 
" Light ! It will not be light for hours ! 
And he was coming across the Waste, and 
it was foggy — I told you so. Perhaps he is 
somewhere, hurt." 

" No, no ! If there had been an acci- 
dent " began Sunderland. 

u There must have been an accident! 
Perhaps he missed the way where the road 
forks on to Ballingford. Take me there — it 
isn't far. I will go ! " 

She sprang into the car. For a moment 
only Sunderland hesitated. 

"Which way do you want to go? On to 

"No, towards Ballingford. ... I'd for- 
gotten — there are great abandoned gravel-pits 
on the right ; you can hardly see them unless 
you look — the grass and bushes grow so 
thickly. . . . They're marked 'Dangerous,' 
and in the dark . . . We're close n6w — 
go slowly — slower. . . . Ah, look — look ! " 
screamed Clementina. 

Her frantic movement was so quick that 
Sunderland never quite knew how he dragged 
her back, how he brought the car to a stand, 
and set her safely on her feet. She pulled 
away and ran to the side of the pit, pointing 
down ; but he had been as quick as she to 
see what lay at its bottom — half in, half out, 
of an ice-glazed pool — a great overturned 
motor, one wheel smashed, and its green 
and cream-coloured coach-work a mass of 
splinters. The girl gave a second cry. 

" It's the Thorneycroft ! " she gasped. 
" Dad's new car. He's killed— he's killed ! " 

" No, no, dear, no." Sunderland's arm 
round her drew her back ; he looked at her, 
torn with love and pity. " Oh, poor, poor 
little girl ! I've got to tell you, and I'd 
almost as soon cut off my hand ! It's not as 
you think ; your father's safe, and far enough 
away by this time. He's not hurt, but — but 
there's something wrong." 

She had been mechanically striving to free 
herself. Now she stood absolutely still. 

" There's something wrong ! " she repeated ; 
" something wrong ! Dad's not hurt, but 
he's gone away — gone away! . . . Lord 
Sunderland, what is it ? . . . Quick, please." 

She was death-white. Sunderland drew 
out the paper. "I got it at Euston," he said. 
14 It — the report — was on all the placards, 
all but the narrie. He's probably safe, dear. 





Remember that. I know it's what you'll 
think of most," 

He unfolded the pink sheets holding it in 
the light of the car lamp so that she could 
read the flaming headlines that sprawled 
across it M Disappearance of the world- 
famous financier, Peter Wylie — alleged 
colossal frauds — suspected gigantic defalca- 
tions— the reported great forthcoming coup 
probably a blind — enormous losses — 
thousands ruined — panic in City — Stock 
Exchange paralyzed — absconding plutocrat's 
daughter interviewed" — all the frenzy of 
Fleet Street had broken forth in capitals. 

The girl stood rigid when she had finished; 
Sunderland had folded and replaced the 
paper before she spoke* 

'You think," she said, in a dry whisper, 

that he— sent Hudson back on purpose?' 5 
So that he could get away \ yes." 

u And drove the car in there and left it?" 

" I suppose he 
did." He made 
a despairing 
gesture. " It must 
be so, dear — I'm 
afraid there's no 
doubt of it. If 
he had met with 
an accident, you 
see, you would 
have heard. But 
I would have 
sworn he was as 
straight — I was 
sure of it. . . . It 
may be that 
things suddenly 
went wrong and 
got beyond him. 
. , . Something 
like that." 

There was a 
painful silence, 
moved towards 
the car. 

" I must go 
home," she said, 
stupidly, " I can't 
stay here, can I ? 
I must go home." 
"Don't do 
that." He checked 
hen "It will be 
horrible for you — 
There will be 
people from the 
papers coming, like that fellow who bothered 
you yesterday, and and others, perhaps.'' 
He would not add plainly that the police 
might be in possession, "You won't be 
able to stand it, dear," he said, pityingly. 
" Let me take you straight to Bab— that's 
what I motored over to her about — to ask 
her to fetch you as soon as it was light. She 
promised directly/' 

Clementina made a helpless gesture of 
assent, and he lifted her in. She was shivering 
from head to foot, and continued to shiver so 
violently that presently he stopped the car. 
A turn of the road had brought a liny 
cottage into view a stone's throw away, stand- 
ing at the very edge of the Waste. Late as 
It was — or early — it seemed that its inhabit- 
ants were astir, fur the latticed windows were 
bright with the light of fire and candle* 
Sunderland looked from them to Clementina's 
colourless face* 




"You are half frozen — you'll be ill," he 
said, anxiously, "They are awake there, at 
any rate. Ill see if I can possibly take you 
in to get warm." 

He was up the little path in a stride and 
had knocked at the door, in his impatience 
turning the handle as he did so, and stepping 
into the room upon which it directly opened. 
For an instant he saw only that two people 
were there — an old woman who was lame, 
and who stared with a shrilly-quavered ejacu 
lation of astonishment, and a man who sat 
by the hearth on a three-legged stooL Then 
he turned his head and Sunderland fell back 
— for a moment it seemed that the very 
world turned a somersault and left him 

"Mr. Wyliel" he cried 

Peter Wylie> without a doubt — Peter 
Wylie, with his clothes torn and draggled, the 
red, swollen mark of a blow upon his fore 

controlling half 
England, stood 


3<j by Google 

head, and a bloodstained bandage tying up 
one wrist. . * ♦ But the vacant face, the un- 
certain movement, the vaguely-troubled eyes 
—it was the body of i( Bulldog " Wylie with- 
out the soul He got upon his feet, putting 
his hand to his head, staring at the other, and 
advanced a step 

" How do?" he said, and nodded. Then 
he touched himself perplexedly. l( Vm Peter 

— Peter, ye know Eh?" 

" Of — of course," said Sunderland. For 
the moment he stammered in sheer bewilder- 
ment. " You^you know me, sir? Sunderland 
—you remember?" 

11 Sunderland ? Sunderland ? Ah, yes. 
Up North. Beastly place/' said Peter Wylie, 
And then in a flash Sunderland understood. 
" Bulldog " Wylie, the millionaire, the great 
financier, whose big hands held the strings 
the moneyed interests of 
there lost, helpless, shorn 
of memory, im^ 
potent as a child. 
The old woman 
began an eager 
whisper at his 
shoulder of how 
"the poor dear 
gentleman" had 
come to her door 
yesterday morning 
when it was hardly 
light, bleeding, 
soaked with mud 
and water, and able 
to tell her nothing 
but that his name 
was Peter. Yes, he 
had spoken of an 
accident and a fall 
in the dark, but 
b e y o n d that 
nothing but that he 
couldn't remember 
— could n't remem- 

Sunderland lis* 
tened, his brain 
working fast, look- 
ing at the figure 
that kept its 
troubled eyes upon 
him. What one 
shock had taken 
away might not 
another shock 
restore? He had 
read and heard of 
such things. He 





turned towards the door and stopped, hear- 
ing the click of little heels upon the path. 
Clementina was coming; in a moment she 
appeared in the doorway. 

" Dad ! " she screamed, and Peter Wylie 
gave a great cry in the big voice that the 
Stock Exchange knew. 

"Tina!" he shouted. "Eh— why— what 
on earth " 

He plunged at her; she rushed at him. 
The old woman stared with a cackle of 
bewilderment at the diamonds and the lace 
frock. Clementina pulled herself a little away. 

" Oh, you haven't run away, dad ! You 
haven't absconded ! " she cried. 

"Eh? What's that?" her father de- 
manded, and indeed the question did seem a 
little absurd. " Bulldog" Wylie, hugging his 
girl like an affectionate bear, was so obviously 
and very much there. 

"It was an accident, wasn't it?" sobbed 

" An accident ? Of course it was ! Don't 
think I took a header into that confounded 
pit for a joke, do you, little maid ? It was 
the beastly fog." He patted her head. 
" Marvel to me, you know, that I wasn't 
smashed, Sunderland — must have jumped 
clear somehow, I suppose. Remember a 
frightful crack on the head, and the next 
thing I knew it was getting light and I was 
scrambling out on to the road. Didn't seem 
to know a blessed thing, except that I was 
Peter— Peter. Good Lord ! " 

" And you haven't paralyzed thousands 
and ruined the Stock Exchange, have you?" 
sobbed Clementina again — mixed, but 
dramatic ; and Peter Wylie stared at Sunder- 

" What — the— deuce," he asked, separating 
the words for emphasis, "does she mean?" 

Sunderland, saying a word or two as to 
what she meant, produced the newspaper, 
and Mr. Wylie, at sight of it, burst first into 
a roar of rage and then a shout of laughter. 
Upon that there followed a good many 
questions involving much thin ice, which 
Sunderland — responding to the appeal in 
Clementina's eyes — contrived to skirt with 
adroitness. Luckily Mr. Wylie was not in 
a mood to be curious. Let him get to a 
telegraph office, that was all ! he said, nod- 
ding his big head. Rexton Station was the 
nearest ? All right — Rexton would do. So 
presently the old dame was left at her door, 
quavering thanks and curtsies over the hand- 

ful of gold and silver that her guest had 
dropped into her apron, and watching the 
motor as it whirled away. 

" Panic, eh ? George, but I'll panic 'em ! " 
said " Bulldog " Wylie, setting his bulldog 
jaw as he jumped out when Rexton Station 
was reached and went striding in. 

He sent a great many telegrams — certainly 
copious and probably explosive and objurga- 
tory. Sunderland presently followed Clemen- 
tina into a waiting-room, where a great fire 
was burning. He stood watching her for a 
moment before he spoke — she was as pink 
as if she had never been pale, and very, very 

" You feel quite all right, I hope ? " he said. 

" Quite all right, thanks," said Clementina. 

" That's good. . . . I'm going to burn this 
confounded paper. About the best thing to 
do with it, don't you think?" 

He pulled it out ; something else came 
with it — the piece of paper he had written 
and folded in " Bulldog" Wylie's study. He 
did not see it, but Clementina did ; she 
stooped and picked it up. It had opened in 
falling, and his hand was big and clear — she 
could not help seeing what was written. 
She gave a gasp ; Sunderland turned, saw 
what it was, and flushed red as he took it 
from her. 

" I didn't mean you to see that — I'd for- 
gotten it. . . . You see, I wrote it before I — 
spoke to you. ... I thought, if only you 
said * Yes,' I'd send my man to wire it to 
all the papers. Whatever people chose to 
say about your father, they'd have had 
to keep their confounded tongues off you if 
it was announced everywhere that you were 
going to marry me — I'd have troubled them 
to answer me if they hadn't. . . . Awful 
c^eek of me, of course, but I — I hoped you 
liked me. I beg your pardon." 

He turned towards the fire, crushing the 
paper in his fingers. There was a soft rush, 
a soft laugh, and a little hand shot out with 
a jingle of bangles and gripped his wrist tight. 

"Oh — please — you — you needn't burn 
that, you know," said Clementina. . . . 

" If," said Clementina, in an argumenta- 
tive vein, presently — " if you're quite sure 
you like me so much and think I'm so nice, 
I don't see why I shouldn't." 

Which was a little involved, and probably 
not quite what she meant. But it is possible 
that Sunderland was able to supply the 

by Google 

Original from 





[Why should not Englishwomen imitate this successful French experiment ? fn 
the following article, written for "The Strand Magazine/' the Duchess of Bedford 
describes an interesting institution in Paris which should well have its counterpart 

on this side of che Channel, — EdJ 

X the Square des Peu pliers at 
the corner of the Rue des 
Colonies in Paris, a populous 
quarter little frequented by the 
ordinary tourist, but not far 
from a great centre of travel 
and traffic, the Gare de Lyons, stands a plain 
but important building. It exhibits the 
well known device of the Red Cross, and a 
brief notice intimates that dressings (pause- 
meufs) are gratuitous, and are performed at 
certain hours indicated. That is all ; and the 
pedestrian might pass it little thinking of the 
great and singularly interesting work which 
is being carried on within its walls. 

There is probably no branch of our national 
life of which we are more justly proud than 
the development (especially of late years) in 
our nursing system. The admirable instruc- 
tion received during a three years 1 hospital 
training, together with the element of gentle- 
ness and refinement introduced by the in- 
creasing number of educated women who 
adopt the nursing profession, has raised the 
tone and standard of our nurses, and we 

Digitized byOt 

are therefore not surprised to learn that the 
system is receiving attention on the Continent, 
especially in France. 

Notwithstanding these undeniable advan- 
tages, we have to turn to our neighbours 
across the Channel to learn from them the 
results of an interesting experiment in the 
sphere of nursing, which has developed with 
surprising success and rapidity during the 
last ten years. 

The dispensary schools (dispensairts- 
hofcs) have been founded with a view to 
the training of non professional women in 
elementary nursing and in the treatment of 
minor surgical cases. 

The movement, which has resulted in the 
formation of a hand of several thousands 
of ladies capable of rendering assistance to 
surgeons and doctors in time of war, was 
initiated in [884 by the authorities of the 
Red Cross Society, who recognized the im- 
perative need for the training and organization 
of women of all classes for such service, 

The hospitals having been prevailed upon 
to receive and train a certain number of ladies 




tinder the able guidance of Mme. Voisin, 
widow of the well-known General, a nucleus 
of superintendents {dames surveillantes) 
was formed, prepared to carry out further 
developments. Lectures on surgical and 
medical nursing, together with lessons in 
bandaging on the "block," were started at 
the office of the Red Cross Society. 

But it was felt that little progress would be 
made unless practice were added to theory. 
The ppesident of the society, the Due 
d'Auerstadt, having strongly advocated an 
advance on these lines, a small dispensary 
was opened in Plaisance — a poor and popu- 
lous quarter of Paris — in November, 1899. 
A few pupils, under the admirable lady- 
superintendent to whom the extraordinary 
success of the experiment is mainly due, set 
to work, receiving their instruction from Dr. 
Maurice Cazin, the pioneer of the move- 
ment in the medical profession. Eight years 
later, in 1907, he was in a position to report to 
the International Congress of the Red Cross 
Society, held in London, that thirty-five such 
schools then existed in France, with a total 
of nearly four thousand students working for 
a diploma in elementary training. In the 
present year (1909) the dispensary schools 
in Paris and the provinces number fifty-four. 

The schools were soon crowded with 
patients of the same class as those who are 
to be found in any out- patient department of 
a general hospital The cases presented for 
treatment included contusions, sprains, 
fractures, sores (septic and otherwise), ulcers, 
white legs, varicose veins, burns and scalds, 
hip disease, etc. During the second year of 
the existence of the Paris dispensary school 
one thousand one hundred and ninety 
surgical cases were dealt with, and three 
hundred and twenty-one operations of a 
minor character performed. 

In the medical department five hundred 
and forty-nine cases came in for treatment. 
As regards the students of the same year, we 
may note that one hundred and eight passed 
through their four months' course of instruc- 

Referring to the monthly bulletin of the 
society for January, 1906, we find the follow- 
ing entry for six months' work : " From May 
1st, 1905, to November 1st of the same year, 
the dispensary school at Plaisance has dealt 
with one thousand and four fresh cases in the 
surgical department. The number of con- 
sultations given to both old and new patients 
amounted to one thousand one hundred and 
thirty - seven ; three hundred and sixteen 
operations were performed, five of which 

Vol. *x*viii.— Wt 

were under chloroform, and wounds to the 
number of eleven thousand one hundred and 
thirty-seven were dressed." In 1909 the 
figures have proportionately augmented. 

Both the number of students desiring 
tuition and the number of cases requiring 
treatment having increased in a marked 
degree, the small premises (consisting of 
four rooms for waiting, consultation, opera- 
tions, and dressings) were superseded by the 
important structure I have referred to in the 
opening of my article. 

And now let me describe my visit. 

At nine o'clock on a bright April morning 
of the present year I entered the waiting- 
room. A few sufferers had already taken 
their places, and were engaged in giving their 
names, addresses, and particulars of their 
cases to a lady in nurse's uniform who 
attended for the purpose. 

Here I found some of the principal pro- 
moters of the scheme, who had kindly arranged 
to meet me, in order to give all needed expla- 
nations. Among them were the Comte and 
Comtesse d'Haussonville and their daughter 
— who holds the advanced diploma. They 
are indefatigable in their efforts, especially in 
the organization of the work at the head- 
quarters of the society, and in the no less 
arduous task of collecting funds for its 

Here, too, was the Marquise de Montebello 
(wife of the former French Ambassador in 
London), with several other ladies, all deeply 
interested in the progress of the school. 
The machinery is oiled and worked by 
many willing hands, but a few minutes' 
observation sufficed to indicate that the 
mainspring was the directrice, Mile. G&iin, 
a woman of singular capacity and initiative. 

The pupils, to the number of sixty, having 
assembled in seats raised tier over tier 
from floor to ceiling, the dtrectnee took her 
place and called the roll. She then pro 
ceeded to comment (with strict economy of 
praise !) on the themes written by the pupils 
in connection with her own course of lectures 
on elementary anatomy, physiology, and so 

As soon as the necessary corrections were 
made the doctors appeared on the scene 
and, the patients having been admitted, each 
case was briefly examined, while the surgeon 
gave a short resume of the nature of the acci- 
dent, wound, or other injury. For example, 
a youth who had cut his head severely by 
a fall from his bicycle on the previous day 
was brought in and treated, explanations of 

,hewu lTN(?^Mi5f i !?.ite,f en,0, ''' ; 



class ; a wound was probed, and a faulty 
surgical apparatus readjusted by one of the 
trained nurses present. 

A selected number of pupils entrusted 
with the duty of performing (under the Strict 
superintendence of the directrtce and her 
assistants) the dressings ordered by the sur- 
geon now passed into the sal ft des panst- 
men/s, where, besides social cases, many out- 
patients, some chronic and some new-comers, 
had assembled. 

A striking feature of the scene was the 
order and discipline that prevailed j here was 
no jostling, crowding, or overlapping of work, 
Kach pupil carried out the task assigned to 
her under the eye of her monitress, and did 

instruction of Religious Sisters engaged in 
work amongst the poor. 

It may now be asked by what system 
the standard of practice is maintained and 
the information acquired turned to account 
in ordinary life. To this it may be replied 
that the services of ladies holding the simple 
diploma, as well as of those who have 
followed the advanced course, are well utilized 
in the small dispensaries which have been 
opened in poor quarters of Paris. Of these 
I visited two — viz., the dispensary in the Rue 
Championnet, and another in the parish of 
the Church of the Madeleine. The rooms 
devoted to the purpose were small, but 
exquisitely clean, the walls and flooring 

Frvm a\ 



not attempt to volunteer for any other, how- 
ever useful or desirable it might appear at the 
moment. The patients themselves were deeply 
appreciative of the quick, practical services 
rendered in a willing, cheerful spirit, both by 
students and nurses ; for much precious time 
is saved to working men and women who 
cannot afford to wait hours for their turn 
in the out-patients' department of a general 

One of our iHustrations shows us the 
sterilizing department A very careful and 
elaborate system of sterilization prevails in 
the school, and students are thoroughly 
trained in all elementary practical notions 
concerning aseptic and antiseptic methods* 

It is interesting to note that the faok-mirt\ 
which began with six pupils, receives now 
sixty during a term "of four months, one term 
in the year being exclusively devoted to the 

>v,lv devoted I 

being covered with white tiles, and the 
whole apparatus was in a condition of 
perfect order and neatness. Two or three 
ladies were at work in each, together with the 
trained superintendent, and the small waiting- 
room was packed at all hours by a crowd of 
sufferers. A doctor was present to diagnose 
the cases, which were then handed over to 
the dames irifirmiires, as the holders of the 
simple diploma are termed. It is evident 
that these small dispensaries, situated in both 
cases on the ground floor of what we should 
describe as a parish -house, are centres of 
great good and comparatively inexpensive. 
Apart from the cost of plant and initial out- 
lay, the maintenance is generally reckoned at 
two hundred pounds per annum. 

In the provinces the development of the 
movement has been no less striking. The 
numberOr^fllJifrWiBeived and cases treated 





Frum ill 


| /'.',■ ^..;.T.r ),/ f 

is naturally proportional to the population of 
the town in which the school is situated. In 
Dijon, for example, an admirably-conducted 
dispensary school trains from six to twelve 
pupils each term. For the satisfactory training 
of a pupil it is considered necessary for her to 
perform about two hundred and fifty dressings, 

The lectures, which form a most important 
part in the education of the student, deal 
chiefly with the following subjects : i. 
Aseptic and antiseptic treatment- 2. Sterili- 
zation of materials and instruments employed 
in surgery, 3. First aid in cases of fracture. 
4. Bandages. 5, First aid in cases of 
hemorrhage- 6. Treatment of burns, sores, 
etc, 7. Syncope, artificial respiration, etc. 
8. Disinfection, contagion, use of clinical 
thermometer, chart-keeping, etc. 9, Poisons 
and their antidotes, 10. Baths, poultices, 
fomentations, etc. 

The students are expected to attend on two 
whole days in the week and four half-days 
(v\z +t two mornings and two afternoons), the 
themes being prepared at home. At the end 
of the course they submit themselves for 
examination, doctors specially chosen for the 
purpose being the examiners. A diploma is 
awarded to the successful student, who is 
then in a position to undertake the work 
of a monitress — namely, the supervision of a 
beginner. This entails her attendance at the 
dressings two mornings a week in charge of 
her pupil. The work of a monitress serves 
the double purpose of keeping up her own 
practice and of increasing the staff of volun- 
tary helpers in the work of bandaging, 
dressing, etc. 

Digitized by dOOgle 

A word must now be said about income 
and expenditure. The fees given by pupils are 
necessarily extremely small (about thirty francs 
per head, excluding the provision of uniform), 
as pupils of all ranks of life join the classes, 
and no prohibitory fee could be attempted. 

In the early days of the school, when from 
six to eight pupils were received, the average 
outlay was about twenty pounds a month ; 
the present rate of expenditure is quite four 
times that amount, exclusive of repayment 
by instalments of loans for building expenses, 
purchase of site, etc. To meet the mainten- 
ance fund the Rtd Cross Society make a 
grant of four hundred pounds per annum, 
subscriptions, donations, and fees supplying 
a sum of about six hundred pounds per 
annum. The usual entertainments, such as 
concerts, bazaars, etc., are resorted to in 
order to pay off the debt on the building of 
the present hospice. 

So far we have glanced at the work of 
training in view of the ever present emergency 
of invasion, in the preparation for which a 
woman of leisure and means in France sub- 
mits herself at no light cost to the constant 
routine, not of the training only, hut of 
subsequent practical exercise. Some, how- 
ever, seek a still higher grade, and place 
themselves under tuition for a more advanced 
diploma, the course for which involves two 
years' further work. 

It is perhaps unnecessary for our present 
purpose to describe this course in detail, In 
some respects it may be compared with that 
of a nurse under training in one of our own 
infirmaries. Original fror 




It is well known that the St. John's Ambu- 
lance Association has, with unflagging zeal, 
provided courses of instruction in first aid 
10 the injured, home nursing, and so on- 

Five lectures on each course are provided, 
and a certificate is given for successful 
examination. The syllabus is so well known 
that it is scarcely needful to recapitulate it. 
The St John's Ambulance Brigade is formed 
by those members who, having submitted 
themselves for re-examination, are enrolled 
in a list of persons willing to give first aid 
in the streets should accidents occur when 
great crowds are assembled on special 

The practical information thus imparted 
has proved of great value, but it is evident 
that the prolonged course of four months' 

maladies of daily life, and how to apply the 
precautions to be taken against the evil effects 
of such accidents or the spread of such 
maladies ? 

Many women have to make their homes in 
distant parts of our Empire — &jp f > n the 
Canadian ranches or the Australian bush. 
Should they have no opportunity given, before 
they leave the Mother Country, to fit them- 
selves to render useful and practical service 
of this description? 

It may be objected (i) that the French 
dispensary schools are avowedly instituted, 
not for times of peace, but for the stress and 
emergency of a campaign conducted on their 
own soil; (2) that we have a nursing system 
of so superior an order that an intermediate 
system of instruction would be superfluous; 

%* r? 



Prom a] 



instruction (though only dealing with ele- 
mentary subjects), together with the practice 
on the patient as well as on the u block," 
and including some insight into the whole 
subject of sterilization, necessarily secures a 
practical knowledge which is not obtainable 
in this country at the present time by non- 
professional women. 

Can our efforts to raise the scope of higher 
education of women be said to be thorough 
or successful so long as one of the most 
necessary branches of knowledge which can 
find a place in women's lives has no adequate 
representation ? 

Is it not indisputable that a woman should, 
if possible, he put in the way of learning how 
to deal with the ouiinarv accidents and 

ia,y accidents 

(3) that, apart from the overmastering motive 
of preparation for military contingencies, few 
women would make the sacrifice of giving 
practically their whole time for a period of 
four months for the purpose of acquiring 
instruction which they might never require, 
or forget for want of practice ; and (4) that 
small dispensaries, which not only offer oppor- 
tunity for practice, but provide solid benefits 
for the poor and suffering in large centres 
of population in France, would not be needed 
in England, owing to the excellent arrange- 
ments of our hospitals m connection with 
the out-patients' departments. 

A few words in reply to these objections 
— all of which contain a large measure of 
truth — may;iipaJrfa~pd J Ti induce the readers of 




this short article to think the matter out for 

Taking the objections seriatim. (1) It is 
quite true to say that the object of the French 
schools is undeniably preparation for helpful 
elementary service in time of war. It may 
be urged that so remote a contingency as 
a campaign on English soil needs no such 
preparation or^ were such an emergency 
to arise, that professional service would 
fully suffice. If we are seriously satisfied 
on either of these points, then we must 
not find fault in this connection with the 
absence of such instruction on the part 
of the educational, medical, and nursing 
authorities. But is it a fact that we are 
all thus satisfied, and therefore unwilling 
to initiate any scheme for more general 
instruction ? {2) It must not be supposed 
that all poor, suffering people in scattered 
rural districts and large centres of popu- 
lation are fully attended to by the excel- 
lent ministrations of the district nurses, for 
large numbers cannot possibly benefit by 
their services. Those who are responsible 
for the collection of the funds for the main- 
tenance of the nurses are well aware how 
inadequate is the supply of nursing help 
to the needs of the suffering poor. More- 
over, if we turn to the homes of the better 
middle-class, we constantly hear that they 
cannot afford the services of a highly-trained 
nurse. In these circumstances a member of 
a household holding the simple diploma 
of a dispensary school would surely be 
a more helpful inmate— though no one 
would reasonably compare her capacity to 
that of a hospital trained nurse— than one 
who had never dealt with the sick and 
suffering themselves. (3) We must not 
forget, in considering this point, that numbers 

of our countrywomen devote themselves with 
the same perseverance and with the same 
sacrifice of time and labour to music, paint- 
ing, literature, amateur science, embroidery, 
lace- making, and the like, from a non- 
professional point of view, and we cannot 
but urge thai the same energy and intel- 
ligence might be at least as profitably spent 
in acquiring useful and practical knowledge 
of the kind dealt with in this short sketch of 
the dispensary schools, (4) This objection 
opens a subject which may very properly be 
argued from many sides. It is far from 
improbable that numbers of the working 
classes would avail themselves of the prompt 
attention and qualified skill which a small 
dispensary might enable them to receive. 
This is one of the points concerning which 
valuable information might be gathered from 
district visitors and others. 

In the belief that Englishwomen, of whom 
it is not too much to say that they have 
moved the whole world on behalf of the sick 
and suffering, will not be slow to appreciate 
the example of intelligent and self-sacrificing 
effort, this short account of the French dis- 
pensary schools is presented to their thought- 
ful consideration, 

A large body of public opinion is reached 
through the wide circulation of this Magazine, 
and, if such opinion were favourable to the 
venture, some English version of the French 
dispensary schools might be one of the many 
happy results of the good understanding and 
increased communication between the two 
countries, rivals only in the peaceful cause of 
the alleviation of human ills. 

lence on this subject may ta # 

P, S. — Correspondence on this subject may lw 
addr? *is*d to 
Adeline Ducho* 
of Bedford, 26, 
Brut on Street, W. 




XKe WHite PropKet. 


[The reader who has not followed the previous portions of this story can readily understand and enjoy 
the following chapters by simply bearing in mind that Colonel Gordon Lord, who is in love with 
Helena, the daughter of the General of the British Army of Occupation in Egypt, has been ordered 
to arrest Ishmael Ameer, known as the " White Prophet," and to close the University of El Azhar (the greatest 
seat of Mohammedan learning in the world), and, after a terrific struggle between his conscience and his 
duty as a soldier, has refused to carry out his commands, which are transferred to Colonel Macfarlane. In 
consequence of this refusal his decorations have been stripped from him and his sword broken by the father 
of the girl he loves. Subsequently, in a stormy interview, the General attacks him in a fit of fury, and 
in the ensuing struggle falls dead, while the Colonel believes that he is himself guilty of his murder. 
Colonel Macfarlane, while carrying out his orders, is assaulted by Colonel Lord, who, feeling his reputation 
ruined, remains in hiding. Shortly after, in the disguise of a Bedouin, he decides to go to Khartoum, 
to which place Ishmael Ameer is also on his way, leaving Helena under the impression that her father has been 
murdered by the " White Prophet." In the dress of a Parsee lady Helena, for purposes of revenge, also goes 
to Khartoum, where she encounters Ishmael Ameer, and while acting as his secretary becomes his betrothed. 
In pursuance of her plan, Helena advises the Consul-General (Gordon Lord's father) of Ishmael Ameer's forth- 
coming return to Cairo. Subsequently she has a dramatic meeting with Gordon Lord, who confesses, to her 
consternation, that he, and not Ishmael Ameer, killed her father. Fearing that immediately Ishmael Ameer 
sets foot in Cairo he will be arrested, by reason of Helena's information, Gordon Lord obtains permission to go 
in his stead. He learns, too, much to his relief, that General Graves's death was due mainly to heart disease. 
On reaching Cairo, Gordon Ix^rd, being mistaken for Ishmael Ameer, is kept under close watch ; while, shortly 
after, Ishmael and Helena, with thousands of followers, set out for Cairo.] 

THE THIRD BOOK :— The Coming Day. 

the "enlightening help of God" and the certainty of 
*' a bloodless victory/ in which the Almighty would 
make me glorious, and the English would be driven 
out of Egypt, the crafty scoundrel did not hesitate to 
propound as a means whereby the true faith might be 
established all over Europe, Rome, and London. 

Since my interview with the Grand Cadi I have 
learned of a certainty what I had already surmised, 
that the Consul-General has l>een made aware of the 


Serai Fum el Khalig, Cairo. 
have passed, my dear Helena, since I 
wrote my last letter, and during that 
time I have learned all that is going on 
here, having in my assumed character 
of Ishmael in disguise interviewed 
nearly the whole of the Ulema, including that double- 
dyed dastard, the Grand Cadi. 

Under the wing — the rather fluttered one— of the 
good old Chancellor of El Azhar, I saw the oily 
reprobate in his own house, and in his honeyed 
voice he made pretence of receiving me with bound- 
less courtesy. I was his "beloved friend in God," 
" the reformer of Islam," called to the task of 
bringing men back to the Holy Koran, to the 
Prophet, and to eternal happiness. On the other 
hand, my father was " the slave of power," the 
"evil-doer," the "adventurer," and the "great 
assassin," who was led away by worldly things and 
warring against God. 

More than once my hands itched to take the hypo- 
crite from behind by the ample folds of his Turkish 
garments and fling him like vermin down the stairs, 
but I was there to hear what he was doing, so I 
smothered a few strong expressions which only the 
recording angel knows anything about and was 
compelled to sit and listen. 

My dear Helena, it is even worse than I expected. 
Someof the double-dealing Egyptian Ministers, backed 
by certain of the Diplomatic Corps, but inspired by this 
Chief Judge in Islam, have armed a considerable part 
of the native populace, in the hope that the night 
when England, in the persons of her chief officials, is 
merry-making" on the island of Ghezireh and the 
greater part of the British force is away in the pro- 
vinces, quelling disturbances and keeping peace, the 
people may rise, the Egyptian Army may mutiny, and 
Ishmael's followers may take possession of the city. 

All this, and more, with many suave words about 
Copyright, 1909, by Hall Caine, 

whole plot and is taking his own measures to defeat it. 
Undoubtedly the first duty of a Government is to 
preserve order and to establish authority, and I know 
my father well enough to be sure that at any cost he 
will set himself to do both. But what will happen ? 

Mark my word — the British Army will be ordered 
back to the capital — perhaps on the eve of the 
festival — and as surely as it enters the city on the 
night of the King's Birthday there will be massacre in 
the streets, for the Egyptian soldiers will rebel, and 
the people who have been provided with arms from 
the secret service money of England's enemies will 
rise, thinking the object of the Government is to 
prevent the entrance of Ishmael and his followers. 

Result — a holy war, and, as that is the only kind of 
war that was ever yet worth waging, it will put Egypt 
in the right and England in the wrong. 

Does Ishmael expect this ? No, he thinks he is to 
make a peaceful entry into Cairo when he comes to 
establish his World State, his millennium of universal 
faith and empire. Do the Ulema expect it? No; 
they think the Army of Occupation will be far away 
when their crazy scheme is carried into effect. Does 
my father expect it ? Not for one moment, so sure is 
he — I know it perfectly, I have heard him say it a 
score of times — that the Egyptian soldier will not 
fight alone and that Egyptian civilians can be 
scattered by a water hose. 

Heaven help him ! If ever a man was preparing to 
draw a sword from its scabbard it is my father at this 
moment, but it is only because he is played upon and 
deceived by this son and successor of Caiaphas the 
damned. I'll gr» and open his eyes to the Grand 

ta ^ l tifoVT^tWMHIGAN 



Cadi's duplicity. I'll say, " Bring your oily scoundrel 
face to face with me, and see what I will say. If he 
denies it, you must choose for yourself which of us 
you will believe — your own son, who has nothing to 
gain by coming back to warn you, or this reptile, who 
is fighting for the life of his rotten old class. ' 

The thing is hateful to me, and if there were any 
other possible way of stopping the wretched slaughter 
I should not go, for I know it will end in the Consul- 
General handing me over to the military authorities 
to be court- mart ialled for my former offences, and, as 
you may say, it is horrible to put a father, with a 
high sense of duty, into the position of being com- 
pelled to cut off his own son. 

Meanwhile, I am conscious that the police continue 
to watch me, and I am just as much a prisoner as if I 
were already within the walls of jail. For their own 
purposes they are leaving ine at liberty, and I believe 
they will go on doing so until after the night of the 
King's Birthday. After that God knows what will 

I am writing late,* and I must turn in soon, so good- 
night and God bless you and preserve you, my own 
darling — mine, mine, mine, and nobody else's — 
remember that ! Hafiz continues to protest that the 
Prophet has a love for you, and will bring out every- 
thing for the best. I think so too — I really do, so 
you must not be frightened about anything I have 
said in this letter. 

Meantime I'll nail my colours to the mast of your 
strength and courage, knowing that the bravest girl 
in the world belongs to we, and wherever she is she 
is mine and always will be. Gordon. 

KS. — I am now dispatching my two letters to 
Assuan by Hamid Ibrahim-— the second of the two 
sheikhs who went with me to Alexandria — and if you 
find you can send me an answer — for God's sake 
do. I am hungering and thirsting and starving and 
perishing for a letter from you, a line, a word, a 
syllable, the scratch of your pen on a piece of paper. 
Send it, for Heaven's sake ! 

I hear that hundreds of native boats are going up 
to Assuan to bring you down the Nile, so look out 
for my next letter when you get to Luxor — I may 
have something to tell you by that time. 


Nubian Desert. 

My Dearest Gordon, — Hurrah ! Hurrah ! 
Hurrah ! We camped last night on the top of a stony 
granite hill, and this morning we can see the silver 
streak of the Nile with the sweet green verdure along 
its banks, and the great dam at Assuan with its cas- 
cades of falling water. Such joy ! Such a frenzy of 
gladness ! The people are capering about like 
demented children. Just so must the children of 
Israel have felt when God brought them out of the 
wilderness and they saw the promisedjand before them. 

Black Zogal galloped into the town at daybreak and 
has just galloped back, bringing a great company of 
sheikhs and notables. Egyptians, chiefly, who have 
come up the Nile to meet us, but many are Bedouins 
from the wild east country running to the Red Sea. 
Such fine faces and stately figures ! Most of them 
living in tents, but all dressed like princes. They are 
saluting Ishmael as the '* Deliverer," the " Guided 
One," the " Redeemer," and even the " Lord Isa" ! 
and he is not reproving them ! 

But I cannot think of Ishmael now. I feel as if I 
were coming out of chaos and entering into the world. 
If anything has happened to you I shall know it soon. 
Shall I be able to control myself? I shall ! I must ! 

Oh, how my heart beats and swells ! I can 

scarcely breathe. But you are alive, I am sure you 
are, and I shall hear from you presently. I shall 
also escape from this false position and sleep at last, 
as the Arabs say, with both eyes shut. I must stop. 
My tent has to be struck. The camp is already in 
movement. . . . 

One word. We were plunging into Assuan, 
through the cool bazaars with their blazing patches of 
sunlight and sudden blots of shadow, when I saw your 
sheikh sidling up to me. He slipped your letter into 
my hand and is to come back in a moment for mine. 
I am staying at a Khan. Oh, God bless and love 
you ! El Ilamdullillah ! My dear, my dear, my 
dear ! Helena. 


The Nile (between Assuan and Luxor). 

Oh, My Dear, Dearest Gordon, —Mohammed's 
rapture when he received from the angel the " Holy 
Koran " was a mild emotion compared to mine 
when I read your letter. Perhaps I ought to be con- 
cerned about the contents of it, but I am not — not 
a bit of me ! Having found out what the Grand 
Cadi is doing, you will confound his "knavish 

Never mind, my dear old boy, what the officials 
are saying. They'll soon see whether you have been 
a bad Englishman, and in any case you cannot com- 
pete with the descendants of all the creeping things 
that came out of the Ark. 

Don't worry about me either. I am quite capable 
of taking care of myself, for I find that in the deca- 
logue you delivered to your devoted slave on the day 
she saw you first, there was one firm and plain 
commandment : " Thou shalt have no other love but 
me." I dare say, being a woman, I am faithless to 
the first instinct of my sex in saying this, but I have 
no time for "female" fooleries, however delicious, 
and be bothered to them anyway ! 

As you see, I did not run away from Ishmael's 
camp on reaching the railway terminus, and the 
reason was that you said you were writing to me again 
at Luxor. Hence I was compelled to come on, for 
of course I would not have lost that letter, or let it go 
astray, for all the value of the British Empire. 

I was delighted with my day at Assuan, though, 
with its glimpses of a green, riotous, prodigal, 
ungovernable Nature after the white nakedness of the 
wilderness, its flashlight peep at civilized frivolities, 
its hotels for European visitors, its orchestras playing 
"When We Are Married," its Egyptian dragomans 
with companies of tourists tailing behind them, its 
dahabeahs and steam launches, and above all its 
groups of English girls, maddeningly pretty and full 
of the intoxication of life, yet pretending to be con- 
sumed by a fever of culture and devoured by curiosity 
about mummies and tombs. 

It's no use— these pink- white faces after the brown 
and black arc a joy to behold, and when I came upon 
a bunch of them chattering and laughing like 
linnets ("Frocks up, children !" as they crossed a 
puddle made by the watermen), I could hardly help 
kissing them all round, they looked so sweet and 
so homelike. 

You were right about the boats. A whole fleet 
were waiting for us, which was a mercy, for the 
animals were utterly done up after the desert journey, 
and next morning we embarked under the strenuous 
supervision o( a British Bimbashi who looked as 
large as if he had just won the Battle of Waterloo. 

Of course, the people were following Ishmael like a 
swarm of bees, and, much to my discomfiture, I came 
in for a share of reflected glory from a crowd of 




visitors who were evidently wondering whether I 
a reincarnation of Lady Hester Stanhope or the last 
Circassian slave-wife of the Ameer of Afghanistan. 
One horrible young woman cocked her camera and 
snapped me. American, of course, a sort of half- 
countrywoman of yours, sir, shockingly siylish, good- 
looking and attractive, with frills and furbelows that 
gave a far view of Regent Street and the Rue de la 
Paix, and made me feel so dreadfully shabby in my 
Eastern dress and veil that I wanted to slap her. 

We are now two days down the river, five hundred 
to a thousand boat -loads of us, our peaked white sails 
looking like a vast flight of seagulls and our slanting 
bamboo masts like an immense field of ripe corn 
swaying in the wind. It is a wonderful sight, this 
flotilla of feluccas going slowly down the immemorial 
stream, and when one thinks of it in relation to its 
object it is almost magnificent— a nation going up to 
its millennium ! 

They have rigged up a sort of cabin for me in the 
bow of one of the high-prowed boats, with shelter and 
shade included, so that I still have some seclusion 
in which to write my "Journal," in spite of this 
pestilent Arab woman who is always watching me. 
In the hold outside there must be a hundred men at 
least, and at the stern there are a few women who 
bake durah cakes on a charcoal stove, making it a 
marvel to me that they do not set fire to the boat 
a dozen times a day. 

The wind being fair and the river in full flood — 
seven men's height above the usual level, and boiling 
and bubbling and tearing down like a torrent — we 
sail from daylight to dark, but at night we are hauled 
up and moored to the bank, so the people may go 
ashore to sleep if they are so minded. 

Oh, these delicious mornings ! Oh, these white 
enchanting nights ! The wide, smooth, flowing 
water, reflecting the tall palms, the banks, the boats 
themselves ; in the morning a soft brown, at noon a 
cool green, at sunset a glowing rose, at night a pearly 
grey ! Then the broad blue sky, with its blaze of 
lemon and yellow and burnished gold as the sun goes 
down ; the rolling back of the darkness as the dawn 
appears and the sweeping up of the crimson wings of 
day ! If I dare only give myself up to the delight ot 
it ! But I daren't, I daren't, having something to do 
here, so my dear one says, though what the deuce 
and the dickens it is (except to stay until I receive 
that letter) I cannot conceive. 

The people are in great spirits now, all their moan- 
ing and murmuring being turned to gladness, and as 
we glide along they squat in the boats and sing. 
Strangely enough, in a country where religion counts 
for so much, there is hardly anything answering to 
sacred music, but there are war-songs in abundance, 
full of references to the " filly foal " and of invoca- 
tions to the God of Victory. These songs the men 
sing to something like three notes, accompanied by 
the beat of their tiny drums, and if the natives who 
stand on the banks to listen convey the warlike words 
to their Mudirs it cannot be a matter for much sur- 
prise that the Government thinks an army is coming 
down the Nile, and that your father finds it neces- 
sary to prepare to " establish authority." 

As for Ishmael, he is in a state of ecstasy that is 
bordering on frenzy. He passes from boat to boat, 
teaching and preaching early and late. Of course, it 
is always the same message — the great hope, the 
Deliverer, the Redeemer, the Christ, the Kingdom 
or Empire that is to come ; but just as he drew his 
lessons from the desert before, so now he draws them 
from the Nile, 

Digitized by Lj GO SlC 

The mighty river, mother of Egypt, numbered 
among the deities in olden days, born in the heights 
and flowing down to the ccean, rising and falling and 
bringing fertility v suckling the land, sustaining it, the 
great waterway from North to South, the highway for 
humanity — what is it but a symbol of the golden age 
so soon to begin, when all men will be gathered 
together as the children of one mother, with one 
God, one law, one faith ? 

It becomes more and more terrifying. I am sure 
the people are taking their teaching literally, for they 
are like children in their delirious joy ; and when I 
think how surely their hopes are doomed to be 
crushed, I ask myself what is to happen to Ishmael 
when the day of their disappointment comes. They 
will kill him — I am sure they will. 

Gordon, I go through hell at certain moments. It 
was good of you to tell me I need not charge myself 
with everything that is happening, but I am hysterical 
when I think that although this hope may be only a 
dream, a vain dream, and I had nothing to do with 
creating it, it is through me it is to be so ruthlessly 

Thank God, we are close to Luxor now, and when 
I get that letter I shall be free to escape. Have you 
seen your father, I wonder? If so, what has hap- 
pened ? Oh, my dear dear ! It is four years— days 
I mean — since I heard from you — what an age in a 
time like this ! My love— all, all my love ! 




My Dearest Helena,— El Hamdullillah ! Hamid 
brought me the letter you gave him at Assuan, and I 
nearly fell on his neck and kissed him. He also told 
me you were looking " stout and well," and added, 
with an expression of astonishment, that you were 
'* the sweetest and most beautiful woman in the 
world. " Of course you are— what the deuce did he 
expect you to be ? 

I am not ashamed to say that while I read your 
letter I was either laughing like a boy or crying like a 
baby. What wonder ? Helena was speaking to me ! 
I could see her very eyes, hear her very voice, feel 
her very hand. No dream this time, no dear, sweet, 
murderous make-believe, but Helena herself, actually 
Helena ! 

Thank God, I have always hitherto been able, 
even in my blackest hours, to rely on your love and 
courage, and I shall continue to do so, and to tell 
myself that if you are in Ishmaefs camp it must